Highway to Hell

by Lydia Anne Stevens

  Man, he's just going for the home run with all the sluggers he's aiming at my dignity and pride. Oh, for two. If he makes me say in front of everyone I will hop in the sack with him, he might as well slam it out of the ballpark on a home run.

  "The Hellcats." His stakes are higher than I ever expected and I need to secure as much ground as I can. “You free the Hellcats too. Let them move on from Purgatory.”

  "That's a lot of pardons you're asking for.” He looks around at each of my girls.

  "Those are my terms. I'm giving up my shot at eternal salvation. In exchange, when you become ruler, you'll have the power to set them and Lowell, free.”

  He rubs his wrists where a black leather band is covering most of his arm and then looks back at my gang. After considering them for a moment, like he's weighing whether or not he can find uses for them and they would be worth more to keep than to set free, he nods. “Lowell and the Hellcats in exchange for your help overthrowing my father and his regime, then ruling Hell with me.”

  "Then I agree to your terms, Damien.” I sigh, letting the tension built up in my chest, escape. There's no going back from it now. I figure I survived being murdered in a sense. I came back as a demon, mercenary biker-babe with my own gang, I'm a tough cookie. I'll survive this. “Now, how do I get into Hell for the info I need?"

  Damien smiles, but I frown. It looks sad, like he was expecting something else from me, but I can't put a finger on what. I wonder how this deal will be sealed and the pit in my stomach is not loosening, even if the weight on my shoulders regarding the responsibility to see my girls pardon has lessened. I expected a blood oath. Something gruesome. Yet he hasn’t procured a shady looking knife to slice open his palm and mine, and there’s no paperwork materializing in an official looking folder. So, what’s his game?

  "What information is it you're looking for?" He unfolds his arms and his hands drop to his sides.

  I study him for a moment. I know what he looks like, but I spend so much time avoiding him and trying not to make eye contact, I realize as much as his personality begs for people to notice the alluring perfection of him, there are flaws. His eyes are blue, but with flecks of silver in them. Apparently, he can change the color at will. I didn’t given it much thought until now. I don’t know why because we are all shapeshifters in our own right. But what I really observe about him, beyond the appeal, is the crow's feet around his eyes. The laugh lines. It's a peculiar thing to take note of, and yet, it's so telling. Of all the things Damien could be in terms of appearance, one would think absolute perfection would be at the top of the list, but it isn't. I find myself mesmerized by the tiny imperfections, in their own way, they are perfect.

  "I want to see if there are any records on how to remove your mark. I figure Hell is a busy place. It must be kind of like prison. Everyone claims they didn't do it, boy cried wolf and all, but there's got to be a case in all of its history when there was actually an innocent wrongly interned.”

  Damien's laugh is like a shotgun sounding through the valley. “It’s Hell. No one really cares.”

  "True, but not my point. Is there such a place? Like records or something? Would it be housed in the library? I know it’s there. I’ve seen it once. How do I get in? I figure Lucifer has influenced written works before so there must be some written records of how to remove the mark. Can you remove it?" I shift my weight on my bike. I'm having serious doubts about the loyalty of his crew. Phil will probably keep his mouth shut about this plan. Maybe Charles. But Doug and Dick are essentially loyal to Lucifer and borrowed guns for Damien. I eye them up and down while Damien mulls it all over. Their silver collars of obedience remain dormant, but it doesn’t mean Lucifer’s beck and call won’t happen at any moment.

  "No, I can't remove it. I'm sure there is some way to do it, but I haven't paid much attention to the stuff. I guess it's a question for Auntie J.”

  "Yeah, cause we know how forthcoming she is with the info all the time. Where is she anyway? I've been calling her all day.” I take my phone from my pocket. It's not like this place has any better reception than Downstairs does, but I still have to try.

  Damien’s posture shifts and he leans forward ever so slightly, his torso tilted closer at me. “She told us to work it out ourselves.”

  I blink. “Bullshit. She would have called me on something like this.” I cram my phone back in my pocket and swing my leg over my bike to begin pacing in front of him.

  "On my honor!" He holds up his hands. He screws up his face like he's aiming for innocent imp, but I know better.

  “You don’t have honor!”

  He has the audacity to look offended, but I know better. How could Auntie J do this to me? How could she just leave me stumbling around in the dark, making deals with Damien I am sure to regret?

  "It's true.”

  Everyone looks around at the voice calling quietly from behind Charles. I stop pacing. Even Charles gets a good case of the whiplash. Phil's voice is in a stage of deep and masculine and then rises on a crescendo and cracks with his case of the nerves. I feel for him. Thirteen sucks and to have to spend eternity going through puberty is probably the worst punishment anyone could inflict on any being. He clears his throat. “We--" He gestures to Charles, Doug, and Dick, "were in the dog pound when Auntie J said to take the shenanigans outside. I guess she meant outside as in a different realm outside. She's kind of--"

  "Bottom line it, buddy.” Charles is the one to speak up. His voice is as smooth as his butternut hair and skin.

  "Ah, right. So, um, she said Damien should take it outside and the two of you should figure it out.” Phil tries to duck back behind Charles' back, but he leans to the side so we can all see the kid.

  I stare at him like I’m trying to look through his soul. "Alright. Auntie J is out. I'm sure she has her reasons.” Probably cosmic ones, which are the worst kind. “It still leaves the questions, how do we get in and how do we find what we are looking for?" I turn my attention back to Damien.

  None of his other boys look ready to play ball with me, but I do have to wonder what sort of gag order Damien has over them so they don't just scamper off to Lucifer and spill the beans. There must be a whole lot of doggy treats in store for this muzzle mission. When I get back and confront Auntie J though…

  "Simple. We ask for the directions from the only person who has been given the extensive tour of the Underworld and Purgatory.” Damien looks at me like he expects me to know who the shit he’s talking about. I hate it when people call me out on my ignorance.

  "Besides your Dad, who?" I wrack my brain trying to think back through the biblical stories to figure out who he's talking about, but I come up goose egg on the subject.

  "Durante degli Alighieri, the poet who wrote about his travels.”

  "Dante Alighieri? The author of The Divine Comedy? Dante's Inferno?"

  I bug eye Damien. He's talking about calling in the big guns on this one. I never for a moment figured one little soul could cause this much discord. I don't know why though. It isn't like I haven't been thinking about how incurring the wrath of Lucifer has been an epic decision in stupidity since I made it. For that matter, why hasn't He sent another volley of demons my way to sort this out? If Damien thinks bringing in the most notorious tourist of Hell is a good way to bust in and take care of business, then it's on for real.

  "Who's that?" Tabby's fingers click over her phone and the pink jewels flash in the moonlight.

  "Dante from Dante's Inferno? You don't know who he is?" Faline asks her.

  Tabby glances up and shrugs.

  Sometimes I wonder if it would be a blessing or a boon to be her kind of ignorant. I at least know who he is and know Damien has outed him as the plan.

  Leo walks up beside me and takes a drag on her smoke. “Bloody brilliant. Just what we need to add to this mess. A celebrity with a fame-induced superiority complex.”

  I get the feeling Leo's beef isn't with his Dante himself and it has more to do with th
e rivalry between European nationalities, but we so don't have time to front.

  "I know, I know. You already have a celebrity, me, and it's all the fame you need. Trust me, Dad was on a bender when he found out Dante spilled all his secret hidey-holes. But, if you want a smooth ride Downtown without meeting any of our coworkers, Dante is our man.” Leave it to Damien to add to all of the drama.

  "Small problem, how do we find him?" We need to focus, get back on task and the mission. It's time to ride and I'm getting antsy with all this hash it out and bond over our mutual issues.

  "Oh, that's easy. We have a friend who has access to go and ask the poet to come and meet us to give us a tour.”

  "We do?" I look around like this friend will pop through the veil between Hell and earth at any moment.

  "Sure. Phil might be fallen from Heaven, but it doesn't mean he can't go back for visits and talk to the souls who are there. Isn't that right, Phil?"

  All eyes are on the kid again.

  "Oh man!" Phil climbs off the back of Charles' bike and whips his t-shirt up over his head.

  What the heck is this? Why is this kid stripping? I look back at my crew, who look as perplexed as I feel. I look down the road, waiting for child services to come and bust us all. I might be a demon, but even I have lines which are a no-cross. Ever. I refuse to look at them suffering in their torture chamber in Hell because I don’t ever want to connect on that level of evil.

  "Make like the wind and fly. Beat it, kid. Work those wings. You have to work out the divinity muscle if you want to get back upstairs to Heaven.” Damien taunts and Phil’s attitude is clear as day on his face as he rolls his eyes and snorts. Damien might be in charge, but the kid seems to be holding his own. He’s still riding with them after all.

  Phil disappears on a sliver of white light. It's kind of like the static on an old box TVs with the rabbit ear antennas. I always felt like the light on those TVs was like a space and time continuum and if I touched the screen, I would be sucked into another dimension. Turns out, I wasn't so far off.

  Phil is back in another minute and he shakes himself off like a wet dog. Wilting feathers fly off him before he tucks them back into himself. I always wondered how angels do it; hide their wings. When he turns away from me, I see they are like a tattoo on his back. To humans, he would look like a kid who was badly influenced at a young age and inducted into the gang just to prove himself. Stereotype 101, he would have gotten the ink to look older and tougher. Now I know it's just his wings folded into his skin. The molting? Not sure if it's a puberty thing or a fallen angel thing, but either way, it's kind of gross like a shedding dog. I feel bad for the guy, leaving his bits and pieces out all over the ground for everyone to see.

  "Dante says to meet him in two days on Coney Island in New York.” He pulls his black t-shirt back on over his head.

  "Why does he want to meet at the park?" Damien barely spares him a glance.

  "Because it used to be the site of the abandoned amusement park, Astroland.”

  "So?” Damien looks up with impatience.

  "Umm, well, he said he'd help us if we help him bust out an old amusement ride. It's been locked up in storage since the old park closed.” Phil twists the bottom of his t-shirt, like the prospect of breaking and entering and theft is not on his list of, want-to-do-today.

  "He wants us to bust out an amusement park ride? What the heck is he planning to do with it once we get it?" This plan is getting weirder and weirder. I look at my girls. It's not like we can fit an amusement park ride in our saddlebags or the sidecar on Fae's bike.

  "No idea.” Phil shrugs.

  "Well, did he say which ride?" I can't believe I'm even considering this. Maybe if we ride into New York, we can rent a truck. One of those moving trucks and all the company needs is the down payment and then we can return it anywhere in the U.S. Afterwards, the breaking and entering part on an island inundated with tourists should be easy, right? Sure, about as easy as all of us riding up to Coney Island incognito in all of our biker gear. We'll blend right in with the fanny packs and cameras.

  Phil clears his throat, so his voice won't crack. “It’s the Dante's Inferno ride.” He says the last bit like no one will believe him and he isn't far off. Not a single person says anything for a moment until Damien settles himself back on his bike and turns the key on his HD Fatboy.

  I turn to my girls. “My afterlife is more bizarre than my living one was.”

  "We should bring the mark.” I look over at Damien whose face is impassive. “It’s more likely my father will send other demons or grim reapers after him while we're gone. With us, Lowell might have a slight chance of not dying soon.”

  I glance between the Hellcats. This could just be a ruse to find out where I've hidden Lowell, but I'm getting the feeling Damien doesn't need a road map to figure out where I hid him. Especially with his own mark on him. I think the only reason we got away from him before was because we had a head start.

  "What about Zeke? The actual mark. You can't tell me he isn't going to be brought into this mess at some point.”

  "I like the way you think, Catriona! Kidnapping, breaking and entering, grand larceny!" Damien claps his hands together.

  "Hey, it isn't my idea to break into an amusement park and steal a ride!" I flip my kickstand up wishing it was my middle finger.

  "Aww, come on, Trina. Could be fun, yeah?"

  "Not the point, Tabby.” She goes back to filing her nails. Friggin' Hell, next thing I know I'm gonna turn around and her damn bike will be all dolled up. I draw the line at hot pink flames. Any of my girls get the idea to custom paint the crap on and they'll get the ax.

  "We're going to need your homeboy, either way, Trina.” Damien draws my attention back to himself.

  "Fine, but he rides with me. Then we find Zeke and he can roll with you.” I don't see any way out of this and he has a point, even as much as I don't want to see Zeke.

  Damien holds up his hands. “It’s not a problem.” He glances at Charles who flashes some fang and it creeps me out. Incubi are typically known for being male demons who have a go at sleeping women and it's straight up nasty in my book, no matter how good they look. What isn't commonly known is they fall under the list of bloodsuckers; vampires. Before I got to Hell, I was like any other woman who fantasized about the bad boy type with a set of pearly whites. Then I died and learned the list of demons on the red stuff is a lot more depraved than humans realize and can be in no way classified as erotic or alluring. With Damien glancing at his boy Charles to help solve our troubles, well, it worries.

  "If you want to trade one boy toy for the twin, that's your deal. Maybe you should think about loosening up a little though, Trina. Why choose one over the other when you can get two for the price of one?"

  "Is that what you call the son of Satan and a Nephilim, Damien? Two for the price of one?"

  "I call it more like an epic phenomenon.”

  "Funny, I call it more like pain in the ass.”

  "Come on now, you know I'm a solid ten.” Damien spreads his arms wide.

  "6.66.”

  "What? Why?" He pulls a face, jerking his head back and clenching his jaw.

  "Because your personality is a Hell no. And before you get any ideas, touch Lowell and I'll bury you in the Underworld so deep it'll take another phenomenon to bust your ass out.”

  I start Sugar, annoyed at his laugh. I wish he had one of those annoying laughs that goes viral on social media. But no such luck tallying it amongst his flaws, which just grates on my nerves even more. I put my bike into gear and pull streamline with Damien, anxious to hear nothing but the wind whipping around me on the road as we aim our bikes back to Salt Lake City. My girls fall in behind me to the right and Damien's Hounds on his left so they fan out like a flock of geese. I never thought I'd see the day I'd be riding beside the leader of the Hellhounds to bust out a cheesy amusement park ride; or have a tête-à-tête with Hell's first cartographer.

  Over the
cacophony of engines rumbling and purring, he shouts, "Gear up, Kitty's and Canines! We're all going on a road trip!"

  9

  "Are you out of your damn mind?" Lowell backs away.

  "Lowell--" I take a step closer to him and his eyes widen. He looks a little haggard, coming down off his buzz, but my plan wakes him right up. I guess I've grown immune to the looks of alarm on people's faces when they see me, but it feels different coming from the man I'm trying to save. I may have denied I was not a good person, at least when I first died. I made my bed, my bones are lying in it, but the sting of distrust on Lowell's face is a whole other ball of spit on my demonic grave. “If we are going to get the mark off, we need both you and Zeke.”

  James’ apartment feels like a prison cell with all of us crammed into the living room. Even the walls are gray. It's like, my man James, get a little spunk in your life, know what I'm saying? A little Va Va Voom or something because this is depressing. I've seen the inside of a couple county jails in my days running with Zeke. I think this might be even bleaker because at least in county, there was an end date to the incarceration. But this is James, setting himself up for the long haul of monochromatic despair. Forget black holes of despair, gray is the color of someone who knows they need to stick it out, but it doesn't mean they're happy about it.

  "Catriona, you aren't getting it. I'm not going with you because I'm not selling out my own brother.”

  Well, there's the wrench in the plan I've been forming since this morning. I figured this was going to come up at some point. I was just banking on it not coming up until later. But with Damien and crew tag teaming with us on this rocking ship to crazy-town, we need all hands-on deck if the plan is going to work.

  “Lowell, it's not supposed to be you. Zeke is--"

  "Trust me, I am well aware of the kind of man my brother turned into.” Lowell folds his arms across his chest and leans against the counter jutting out from the tiny galley kitchen. His face hardens and I feel a twinge of sadness. Scout has grown a pair and is walking the line of being a man. Maybe he is what real men should be like. Have convictions. Who cares what they look like? Who cares how much money they make? A man with a moral compass who might teeter on the path but not stray is the kind of man I wished I’d fallen in with.