Hell High

by Cindi Madsen

  Dad peeled back my sleeve. Crimson rolled over his irises as he stared at the puckered red skin. “Who did this to you?”

  “Does it really matter? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to learn all about Hell?”

  The vein in his forehead popped out, and his nostrils flared. “Who? Someone at school? A demon? Tell me.” His voice echoed through the room and drilled into me, sending my heart rate skyrocketing.

  I clamped my lips together and glanced away.

  I flinched as he towed me closer, dreading his temper but too scared to spill my guts at the same time. His palm hovered over the blistered area. At first it felt like my arm was being held over the flame again, and my body trembled, a whimper leaking out of my mouth.

  But then coolness replaced the heat and the pain gradually receded. Only a hint of the burn remained, the skin white and tight instead of red, blistered, and raw.

  “Now,” Dad said in a deadly low voice that promised misery and pain. “Who did it?”

  My stomach contracted. “Or you’ll put it back the way it was?”

  His eyes latched on to mine. I tried to look away, but my muscles seized, holding me in place. His irises glowed amber as he peered deep into my soul and…pushed.

  The air around us changed, heavy yet light, tingly and charged with electricity. The hair on my arms and neck rose, and I felt a tug, like he’d reached into my brain and pulled.

  He put his face in mine, the tips of our noses all but touching. “Tell. Me. Now.”

  Out it came. The trip to the Lake of Fire, how Ms. Bing had burned me, and her threats about what would happen if I didn’t keep my mouth shut.

  I don’t know why I felt like I should defend someone who didn’t care if I lived or died, but the murderous expression on Dad’s face made my throat go dry and my internal organs shrivel up.

  “It was because I talked back in class,” I said. “I made one of my signature sarcastic comments and I probably deserved—well, not as harsh a punishment, but I deserved one.”

  He released both his physical and mental hold on me and cracked his knuckles, one hand and then the other. “And now she deserves one.”

  “Dad, really, it’s over and it’s—”

  “No one crosses that line with you,” he said, his voice icy enough that a shiver worked its way down my spine. “You’re my daughter, Princess of Hell, and the physical ramifications of taking you that far into the center without protection could have killed you.”

  “Isn’t that what you want anyway? Then I’d be stuck here forever.” The second it was out of my mouth, I wanted to take it back.

  Seriously, when am I going to learn to shut up already?

  “That’s not how it works,” Dad said. “You might be handed over to the other side, and if they managed to get you, they’d use you against me.”

  “You mean Heaven?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get any ideas. It doesn’t work if you commit suicide, and with everything you’ve got working against you, you’d have to…” He shook his head, looking like he regretted not keeping his mouth shut as well.

  “Have to what?”

  “Never mind.” Dad raked his fingers through his hair, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him look even slightly disheveled. “So did Naamah do the patchy healing work, too?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t remember much. Just the fire and the pain and then pulling up to the castle. And the threats.”

  Dad snapped his fingers, and a glass of water and two pills appeared next to me on the dining room table. “Take that and go to bed. By morning the last of the pain should be gone.” He reached up and brushed a knuckle across my cheek, the compassionate move so out of character I almost wondered if I was already asleep and dreaming. “No one will ever hurt you like this again.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already gone.

  Fourteen

  Tristan jogged up to me as I entered the gates of the school. “Hey.”

  I swear a collective gasp went through the rest of the crowd standing outside, but he didn’t seem to notice the controversy his speaking to me was causing.

  “Hey,” I said, fluttery butterfly wings brushing my insides as I stared into his handsome face.

  “You feelin’ any better today?”

  Better was an understatement. My arm was completely healed. I’d still worn long sleeves to keep it covered since I was nervous about facing Ms. Bing and having her see her torturing had been undone, but it was such a relief to not be hurting after the constant ache. “Yep. I think I’ll even be ready to do headlocks in class tomorrow, so yay. That’s how I judge how awesome my day is now, by the way.”

  He laughed, and it was such a nice, happy sound I couldn’t help catching a bit of joy myself. “Well, I wanted to check and see how you were doing.”

  “Otherwise you’d do your sleeper move and get me out of class?” I leaned in conspiratorially. “Because I wouldn’t be totally opposed to missing a few of our classes.”

  He pressed his fingertips to my lower back, stirring up more butterflies. “And here I thought you were tryin’ to stay out of trouble.”

  I peered into his muddy green eyes, noting the extra sparkle there today. “Apparently not.”

  Constance walked up to us, a scowl on her face. “What are you doing talking to her?”

  “She’s not so bad,” Tristan said, but he dropped his hand.

  “Yeah, I greatly enjoyed being thrown against a wall.”

  I was determined not to think any thoughts that’d send her running toward the River Styx, but I also wasn’t going to let her blame me for everything bad in her life—or afterlife, as it were. “That wasn’t me. That was you and your big mouth. Looks like it’s a constant problem.”

  She growled—not exaggerating—and Tristan stepped between us. “Let’s all just calm down.” He glanced toward the front doors of the building. “Ophidia is staring at us, and I’d rather not get detention added to all the other work I have to do.”

  The snakelike woman who usually sat behind the office desk stood in the doorway, her giant insect eyes homed in on us.

  With a huff, Constance spun around and stormed away.

  “Wow, she seems nice,” I said.

  “She’s been here for over seventy years, and she’s had it rough, so give her a break, okay?”

  My defenses pricked up. “I’m not the one who charged over and started yelling, but sure, I’ll give her a break.”

  Things between Tristan and me were all tense and awkward now. It was time to go inside anyway, so I hugged my books to my chest and entered the school.

  When I got to the classroom, I tossed my books on a desk and settled in for another shitty day. The rest of the students filtered in and took their seats, but Ms. Bing wasn’t in the room yet. Apprehension coursed through me, tightening my muscles. I had no idea what Dad had said to her. While I knew how scary Dad could be, I was still worried about the backlash from Ms. Bing.

  The door opened, and the succubus I’d been terrified of facing walked in.

  No, not walked.

  Limped.

  As soon as she reached the front of the classroom, she turned around, and my blood ran cold. A thick red scar ran across her left eye and down her cheek, her neck was bruised, and she had blisters up and down her arms, the skin more black and red than flesh colored.

  Her grotesque injuries sent guilt crashing into me, and I glanced away from her.

  Right into Tristan’s horrified expression. His accusation was clear. He thought I was responsible, and in a way, I was.

  “Open your books to chapter ten…” Ms. Bing lectured, her voice raspy, and I was sure the bruises were to blame.

  She only looked my way once, and the fear in her eyes was unmistakable.

  The second I stepped into the hallway after class, Tristan was at my side. “Did you have Abigor or your dad do that to her?” he asked, repulsion tinging his words.

  “I… M
y dad found out. I didn’t tell him, but he saw the burn and pulled the truth out of me. I asked him to leave it alone, but obviously he didn’t listen.”

  Tristan’s expression hardened. “That was just what I needed to snap me back to reality. You’re as dangerous as he is.”

  “Really? You think I’m”—I threw a hand to my chest—“as dangerous as Satan himself?”

  He stared at me for a moment. “I’m not sure. But you are dangerous.” He backed away slowly like I might just attack him here in the hall.

  Everyone around me stared with a combination of fear and hatred.

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement. Ms. Bing stood in the doorway to her classroom, the same combination on her face. But she bowed her head, and I knew she’d never threaten me again.

  Unfortunately it didn’t give me any satisfaction. All I experienced was bile and disgust over who I was. Lilith Grace Master-of-Darkness, daughter of Lucifer and Princess of Hell, whether I wanted the title or not.

  Tristan’s right. Being around me is dangerous.

  I couldn’t blame him for leaving me in the dust.

  Right now I wasn’t all that thrilled about being around me either.

  “I trust everything went okay today,” Dad said from his usual wingback chair next to the fireplace as I walked past the archway of the living room.

  “You mean okay like how Ms. Bing was beaten and burned, and now everyone at the school, both staff and students, are terrified of me? Is that your definition of okay?”

  Dad tossed the file he’d been flipping through aside, and it landed on the coffee table with a light thud. “Naamah disobeyed a direct order. She was well aware her actions would incur my wrath, and she’s lucky I spared her at all.” He stood, his steps echoing through the cavernous room as he neared me. “As for people being terrified of you, they should be. Naamah’s not even a higher-level demon, so what I don’t understand is why, when you could’ve easily stopped her from hurting you, you didn’t tap into your power.”

  His intense gaze bored into me, prying and seething, so I focused on a spot over his shoulder, where Peter Paul Rubens’s painting, The Massacre of the Innocents, hung. Only Dad would hang it as a pride piece instead of a tragic one.

  “I was determined not to be like you,” I said. “By the time I decided I didn’t care, I was already too weak to do anything about it.”

  I felt the weight of Dad’s hands on my shoulders but refused to look him in the eye, especially after what’d happened yesterday. “Keeping your powers all bottled up isn’t good for you,” he said. “Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position?” His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my skin. “To have the chance to rule Hell with me?”

  Frustration bubbled up in me. My words burst out of my mouth, my voice taking on a desperate edge. “How don’t you get it? I don’t want powers or influence. I don’t want to rule Hell. I just want to go back to Earth and live my life.”

  “I’m offering you a gift.”

  “I don’t want it. If you really want to give me a gift, think sports car or pony. Or how about just give me my freedom back?” Finally I dared to look at him. “Let me go back to my life. Back to the people I love. Please.”

  Dad jerked back like I’d slapped him, and his hands dropped down at his sides and formed tight fists. “I’m taking care of you the only way I know how.”

  “But you don’t know how. Mom does.”

  “She had seventeen years with you. It’s my turn.”

  “You don’t want a turn; you want help running Hell.” I swiped at my forming tears, resentment taking the wheel yet again. “You think it’s so great, and that you’re so great. Everyone here hates you. They’re scared, so they’ll cower and bow and flatter you, but they all hate you.”

  Dad pointed a finger at me. “Exactly. And they hate you, too, just because you’re my daughter. It doesn’t matter how good you’ve been or what you do, they’ll always despise you. Doesn’t that make you want to show them?”

  Fury and greed flooded his features. “To rule over them and incite fear so they’ll never dare to cross you or treat you badly again? All you have to do is use the skills you already have.”

  I shook my head and took a step back. “You misunderstood me. I’m not angry at them. I sympathize with them. I’m only mad at you. You act like striking terror and unleashing violence are the only way to rule, but God’s powerful, and people love him.”

  The muscles in Dad’s neck and shoulders went rigid. “Watch it, Lilith.”

  “You know I’m right. They might fear Him, but they love him, too. All your subjects despise you.”

  “Oh, so you sympathize with people who sold their souls for wealth and power, using any means possible? How about murderers and rapists and kidnappers?”

  My breaths were coming too fast, and I knew I’d walked into a trap I didn’t even realize he’d laid.

  “I can’t bring people here without a reason, and it’s high time you see what people have done to end up here.” Dad clamped on to my arm and dragged me down the hallway that’d given me nightmares the first time I’d seen it.

  Pictures lined the walls, images of people suffering horrifying deaths. These were the most valuable people Dad had won—several of whom he and Heaven had fought over. I’d made the mistake of asking him about it once, unable to help myself as I studied the gruesome pictures.

  After that, I learned not to ask questions and just assume I didn’t want to know.

  I recognized a couple of movie stars, notorious criminals—including several of the FBI’s most wanted—and even one of the American presidents on the wall. Dad had them down here in the fiery depths, being slowly pulled apart by various machines that sported spikes and chains and blades of every kind.

  I hoped to heaven I never got the displeasure of seeing any of them in person.

  Dad stopped in front of a large steel-reinforced door. He snapped his fingers, and the bolt slid open.

  Even though I’d never admit it to him, the snapping thing did seem pretty convenient.

  The door swung open with a creak, and Dad gestured me inside. TV screens lined one wall, images flashing across them, so many that I couldn’t keep up.

  “No matter how much we try to intervene in people’s lives,” Dad said, “the only way we get their souls is by their actions. By the choices they make on Earth.” He moved closer to the huge control board. “We can nudge, persuade, and throw obstacles in the way, but we can never force anyone. In the end, all people have the freedom to make their own choices. But they don’t get to choose the consequences. Here we keep the proof of every bad thing they’ve done.

  “I used to have hundreds of minions keeping track of everything, but now this super computer and five minions who work out of an office in the basement do it all. The computer even flags all the major sins so nothing falls through the cracks.”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “You’re telling me about technology and the improvements it’s made here in Hell?”

  And there are minions in the basement? I doubted he meant the little yellow guys from the movies, although those things were super obnoxious.

  “Fine. We’ll cut to the chase.” He pointed to the wall of televisions, and with a few taps on the keyboard, they went from showing several images to one great big one spread across all the screens.

  I flinched as a man hit a woman half his size. She fell back to the floor, doing her best to shield her face from another hit. Blood gushed from her nose, and still the man advanced at her, yelling and sending a fist into her unprotected gut.

  Dad gave me a questioning look, one heavy with challenge. “You feel bad for him, watching him beat a woman he promised to love and to cherish? Think he’ll change? He’s been telling her he’ll change for twelve years now.”

  The image morphed, showing a stringy-haired dude with a syringe sticking out of his arm.

  “This man steals to support his drug habit. He’s
fathered seven kids. Only two of them with the same woman—a woman he gave an STD, by the way. Seven kids and he doesn’t take care of any of them because he cares more about getting high, no matter the cost.”

  My voice shook when I spoke. “That’s bad, but maybe he had a hard life. Who are we to judge?”

  The smug smile that parted Dad’s lips sent trepidation skating across my skin. “I do. I get to judge. As for this pathetic specimen’s story, his parents gave him a trust fund and as soon as it kicked in, he dropped out of college to party and have sex, until he’d burned through every dollar. Heaven certainly doesn’t want him. I’m not even sure I want him. But every soul helps, so I’ll take him anyway.”

  I slid my hands in the pockets of my shorts. “Okay, so he’s not a very good person, but even if people don’t do awful things, you try to get them to do things that’ll bring them here. Even if they’re good, or at least trying to be, you push, push, push.”

  “I need their souls to survive. The more I have, and the better those people were at one point in their lives, the more powerful Hell and I become. That’s how it works. But tell me…”

  The screens changed again. A burly guy pulled a skinnier man in a business suit out of a car and pulled a gun on him.

  “The guy in the suit, who’s a father of three and has a loving wife at home, is going to testify against a well-known gangster,” Dad said. “So one of the gangster’s men was tasked with making sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Please,” the businessman on-screen said, snot running down his nose. “I won’t testify.”

  “That’s right. You won’t.” Big and Burly pushed the barrel of the gun against the other man’s head. “What about your wife and kids? You tell them anything?”

  The skinny man shook his head. “No. They don’t know anything. Leave them out of this.”

  “I believe you,” said the man with the gun, giving his captive a cold smile. “But I’ve got my orders.” His finger curled around the trigger.

  Then he pulled it.

  I threw my hands over my mouth. So, so much blood. Seeing the inside of a man’s head. The way the shooter took his life like it was nothing. None of it was right.