by Tim Hawken
No more surprises? I almost started to laugh at my stupidity. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I spun back to my friends; they appeared hopeful at the look on my face.
“Phineus,” I said to them, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Marlowe’s eyes lit up with understanding. “The prophet,” he said.
“The Perceptionist might not want to tell the future for us,” I said, the wheels of a plan spinning in my head. “But an old friend might. It will take away some of Asmodeus’ advantage.” I clasped my hands together, happy with the possibility. There were other things to do as well. We were back in action stations, where I worked my best. I turned my attention to Marlowe again.
“Take Germaine with you to help find Phineus,” I said. “If he’s in the same house as before, it’s a dilapidated shack across the road from the Smoking Gun strip. Smithy,” I continued, turning to the pilot, now really feeling the momentum of opportunity churn in my gut. “You go and find the cabdriver Mack. We need reliable people at our backs. I will go with Clytemnestra and Lotte to Magdalene’s mansion, to see if we can dig up anything useful. We’ll all meet back here as soon as we can.”
Without pausing, I started walking toward the elevator, the depression I had felt at being beaten by Asmodeus now lost in the flurry of activity in my mind. You hadn’t truly lost until you had given up. This wasn’t that time. With a “bing” the silver doors opened. I turned back to see the others looking at me, almost in shock. I was exhilarated with the new spark of energy.
“Let’s go,” I said, ready to rip back into Hell.
Charlotte swept her arm out to indicate everyone’s dress.
“Didn’t you just agree with Marax that we were supposed to be keeping a low profile? None of us can be seen in the open, or his story will be exposed.”
She had a point, but the objection was nothing some elemental craft couldn’t fix. I waved my hand quickly, using my skill to send an illusionary wave right through the group. Their outer appearances all morphed to distort their faces. Horns sprouted and ears grew. Marlowe’s skin turned white and Germaine’s green. I let Clytemnestra’s hair shrink back into her skull and had several pig snouts sprout in its place. Her chin extended and hooked up like a caricature of a witch. I made Charlotte look like a short, blue lust demon. With a flourish, I drew my hand down over my own face, twisting into the shape of an animated Guy Fawkes’ mask. In mere moments, we were all completely unrecognizable.
“I’m hideous!” Charlotte exclaimed, catching a reflection of herself in the elevator mirror behind me. “I look like Gollum and Smurfette’s love child.”
“Come on, my wife.” I said to her in mock seriousness, “I love you no matter what you look like.”
We were on a new path. It felt good to have some purpose again, even if it was without a clear intention. We would find that soon enough. It would come with Phineus, I was sure.
FIFTEEN
I FELT INVISIBLE IN MY DISGUISE. For so long, people had stopped and stared everywhere I went, whispering behind their hands. Now, no one gave our trio a second glance. We were just another set of deformed ghouls stalking the streets of Hell. Open trucks rumbled along the road at a slow pace, allowing people to jump on and off their wide flatbed trailers. They seemed to be making circuits of the city, providing a sort of efficient public transport, which kept the bulk of other traffic off the road. There was a definite purpose to people’s movements. No one was loitering or standing around. There were things to do. I wondered if this had been another idea of Marax’s. He had really risen to the challenge. Some people were born for conflict: he was one of them.
Not wanting to risk any kind of flight which might draw attention, we ran for a truck. Each of us was hauled up by fellow demons onto the moving platform. A skinny pride demon, who had lifted me with some others, clapped me on the back as I found my feet.
“Where to, friend?” she asked in a high-pitched rasp, which sounded like fingernails grating down a blackboard. Her violet-tinged skin was covered in hideous scars from head to toe, some freshly scabbed. A crooked smile hung on her lips, her mouth turning up on one side, the other drooping down in misuse. It seemed she only had control of the muscles on one side of her face.
“Magdalene’s Mansion.” I said, making my voice deeper than normal.
“This route only passes its closest corner,” she said, licking her palm and smoothing back her blonde hair, which grew in tufts out of her scalp. “We’re gathering supplies for Lieutenant Kahn.” Marax’s newest appointment, I recalled. “Kahn is the greatest leader in the nine legions,” the demon continued. “He would rival even Lord Michael in hand to hand combat.”
I could see the look in her eyes, challenging me to say any different.
“I’m sure he would,” I replied as the truck rumbled forward. “What kind of training is he having you do?” I asked, curious.
Lotte and Clytemnestra bunched a little closer to eavesdrop. Any information on how things were faring on the ground might be valuable later.
“He’s having us work with swords,” the demon answered, her eyes gleaming. “Guns are for the weak, useless against the angels. We can clip their wings with wicked steel before we chop off their heads.”
The thought obviously gave her great delight, because she let out a barking laugh. A sloth demon standing close by took notice and came forward. His eyes were half closed and he talked with a slow lisp. His skin was dead on his body, flaking off in places. Open ulcers wept stinking pus on his arms. I recalled the zombie-like state the sloths could revert to, once they became steeped in their languid sin.
“Swords are for close combat only,” he said. His mouth was a mash of bleeding gums and rotting teeth. “Our legion is concentrating on more long range weapons. We need bombs to launch ahead of us to create destruction from a distance. Liquid hellfire can burn divine skin like nothing else.”
“Missiles are for cowards,” the pride demon hissed.
The sloth demon looked as if he was going to retort, but then seemed to lose interest, shrugging his shoulders and turning away.
“Sloths!” The pride demon spat with contempt, looking at his back. “Can’t even be bothered having a friendly argument. They don’t care about freedom. Having to make choices is too inconvenient for them.”
“It will take all kinds to win this war,” Charlotte said next to me, in her distorted form. “Having hellfire in our artillery sounds like a smart decision to me.”
“Yes,” the pride demon said evenly, “but our ground forces are the most important.”
“You’re right.” I said and she smiled at me, pulling a face back at Charlotte like that was the final word.
“I’m Droog,” she said, holding out her hand, which I shook.
“A pleasure,” I said, not giving my name in return. I turned my attention to the street that was moving past quickly now. Buildings were being repaired all over. The city was being updated like never before. Old shop fronts had been marked for renovations, graffiti was being whitewashed over before new color was added. This district seemed to be dedicated to Wrath. Red was being streaked everywhere and angry faces sat on all of the workers. They didn’t seem disgruntled in their labor, rather taking it on with a furious vigor. We went through some traffic lights into the next block, which had scaffolding wrapped around the first few buildings. Demons scurried up and down the frame, hauling sheets of steel upward, before bolting them onto the building to reinforce its defenses. The truck we were on started to gear down slowly, stopping in the middle of the road for no apparent reason.
“Why are we…?” Charlotte began.
Her question was answered with a chorus of agonized wailing and a thunderous crash from the guilty sky. Bodies dropped limp around us, crashing onto the tray of the truck and spasming in their visions of remorse, as the fire and smoke swept through. The constant roar in my ears filled me with deep personal pain. While I didn’t have to go through my own guilt,
the storm cut me deeply, reminding me of my failings to my people. Droog, the pride demon, was at my feet ripping at her own skin, tearing bits of flesh from her face with clawed hands.
“Ugly, ugly,” she was whimpering, “I’ll win the next pageant, Mommy. Ugly. Ugly.” Her wounds split open, dripping dark blood at my feet. Her scars would never heal down here, I thought. She was doomed to stay this way forever without our help. All around it was a similar story: glutton demons sticking fingers down their throats to vomit, greed demons crying tears of eternal loneliness as they’d chosen material gain over affection. Lust demons yelled out to lost lovers they had betrayed for fleeting pleasure. I brought my eyes up to Charlotte, who was looking around in horror. She had never been this close to people experiencing their personal suffering. I touched her arm and she jolted. At first she looked at me like a stranger, but then remembered my disguise. I brought her close to me and held her tight, putting my lips to her ear.
“We’re going to put an end to this,” I promised.
SIXTEEN
THE TRUCK STARTED UP AGAIN a few minutes after the guilt storm passed. Droog still lay at my feet, bleeding from her self-inflicted wounds. As we started moving I bent down and helped her up. The slices on her face were already slowly healing into puckered scabs. She smiled at me as I let her go. One of the cuts opened up again, sending a dribble of crimson into her mouth, staining her teeth. Everyone was gathering their senses from the assault. No matter how long you’d been in Hell, the experience of those hauntings was never dimmed. I was yet to meet someone who didn’t dread it coming. I felt like a fraud not having to experience it myself, and able to protect only a few close to me from its relentless tentacles. Stopping it should have been my first objective all along. I resolved to begin working on a plan to seek out its origins as soon as we had returned from Mary’s in search of what might already be a cold trail. There could be something, though. We couldn’t lose hope. I had to keep moving, or the frigid hand of depression would squeeze my soul to incapacitating sorrow.
“This is your stop,” Droog said, pointing ahead.
She was right. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been told. Normally this intersection was marked with a towering golden statue of Asmodeus. I had never had the time to remove it. Now someone had torn off its head and arms. The rest of the body had been painted blue. We were deep in the district of Lust.
Clytemnestra, Charlotte and I all jumped down from the truck. Droog waved us goodbye and I raised my hand in return. There were still well meaning people down here, despite their personal shortcomings. This part of the city was the same as the ones we had just passed through. Improvements were being made to buildings, demons working in co-ordination with each other to achieve them. A casino across the street was being cleared of its gaming tables. The neon sign above the place had been replaced with something more utilitarian. A plain black board with white letters read: Mess Hall. I hoped nothing like that had been done to Magdalene’s Mansion. As we neared the site of our destination, I breathed a sigh of relief. The façade of the building was exactly the same: red, reflective glass with an icon of a dominatrix holding a whip embedded inside the clear paneling. This close up you couldn’t even see the top of her legs as she arched up the entire height of the structure. We entered the foyer and were met by a line similar to the one I had encountered last time, winding almost right back to the door. Despite the owner’s absence, they were doing a roaring trade. It reassured me that the employees here were oblivious to their madam’s defection. The customers were being served with proficient speed and it wasn’t long until we were at the front of the queue, facing Oba. She looked at me with such familiarity that I had to double check I still had my living Guy Fawkes mask in place. It was a skill of her customer service to make clients feel that they had been remembered.
“And what will it be today, sir?” she asked with a lick of her lips.
“We’d like to hire one of the dungeon rooms,” I said. “I’m going to give my two girlfriends here a spanking they’re not likely to forget.”
I heard Charlotte choke behind me at the comment. Of course I had no intention of using the rooms, but I knew that they were downstairs in the basement, in the general direction of where we were heading.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Oba said. “It’s a two day wait for the dungeons.”
“You’re kidding!” I said, in disbelief.
“Ever since Fifty Shades of Grey came out we’ve had a surge of bondage requests,” she smiled. “One of our most popular rooms has been hired out permanently by a rich socialite and it has contributed to the backlog.”
“I thought perhaps with the war effort there would be fewer people coming in.”
“We’re busier than ever,” Oba replied curtly. “With all this training and talk of annihilation, people need some pleasure time to blow off steam. I have a nice jail cell on the second floor if that tickles your fancy. It has manacles on the wall.”
“Fine.” I nodded, knowing we’d be able to bypass the elevators without too much trouble. I could use a cloak of elements to make us completely invisible; but I was enjoying the interaction a normal disguise gave us. It was helping me learn more and more about what made people tick down here. My people.
“That’s two thousand dollars,” Oba said.
Before I could express my shock at the price, Clytemnestra slapped a wad of cash down on the counter and pushed us forward. At least she was prepared.
I led the way down the halls. The secret of not being stopped seemed to be marching towards your destination with confidence. Ushering my companions through the long corridor, we came to the concealed door I was looking for. It had been locked, but I let a weave of elements trickle from my fingers and it slid open. We took each step downwards with care, trying to take in every fiber and chink in the walls, to see if anything appeared out of place. There was nothing. It was the same as every other time I’d been here. When we arrived at The Crypt itself, however, we were met with a different sight. All of the coffins were gone. Charlotte and Clytemnestra, who hadn’t seen it before, didn’t appear surprised, but I hadn’t known this room any other way. It looked so bare without their presence. The crucifix altar still sat in the centre. The dove’s white light flooded down from above. We split up and circled around, each searching the shadows. There were no strange marks, no hidden trapdoors. It was only after we’d done multiple laps of the room that I stopped.
“Why would he have taken all the coffins?” I asked, thinking it strange. “Couldn’t he just have taken Judas’ and left the rest? The Pure Seven wouldn’t need them.”
Clytemnestra paused to ponder the question. Lotte moved over to the altar and took a seat on its stony surface. I couldn’t look at either of them seriously in their present forms, so I lifted our disguises for the moment. Clytemnestra tapped her jagged teeth with black polished fingernails while she thought. Charlotte lay down on the altar, taking up the position of a corpse as if getting into character might give her some extra ideas.
“Maybe Asmodeus needed to transport them all inside the coffins?” Clytemnestra offered. “He’d certainly look very strange appearing in Heaven with seven evil angels as an entourage.”
It did make sense. Having them enclosed in boxes would not only hide them, but would contain them until he was ready to set them free. If I put myself in his shoes, I would have done the same thing.
“So what does that tell us?” I asked.
“Not much,” Lotte said from her prone position. “Lifting a few coffins wouldn’t be too hard for an Elemental.”
She was right. He could have easily made them dance along behind him, hidden in a reflective cloak of molecules. But what about raising them to Heaven? How did he do that? How had he come here multiple times without being seen by anyone? My stomach was doing back flips at the same rate as my mind. The apparent ease with which he’d done it made me nervous. We all sat there in silence, waiting for answers that didn’t come. I did one m
ore circuit of the room, to no avail.
“There’s nothing here,” I said. “Let’s go up to Mary’s office and see if we can find anything there.”
I reapplied our disguises in the privacy of The Crypt before turning to leave. We drifted in contemplation back to the ground floor, finding our way to the main elevator and getting in. The numbered floors held no curiosity to me; it was the symbol buttons which contained the most promise. The first was the one with an ornate ‘M’ on it. That would lead to Mary’s office. The other with the universal eye would take us to The Chamber of Maps. Looking at my watch, I decided to press the latter button first. The eye glowed with its red backlight. The effect made it look alive, watching.
“Isn’t that the same floor we went to last time, with the giant globe?” Lotte asked me, curious.
“Yes,” I said. “I have an idea that I want to test out. That globe normally reflects all the changes that happen in the realms as they occur.”
“What are we looking for, then?” she queried.
I stared into space for a few moments, hoping that my hunch was right. If I was, it would indeed give some insight into a question that had been burning bright since we got off the truck.
“I want to see exactly where The Guilt comes from.”
SEVENTEEN
WE ENTERED THE MAP ROOM. Straight ahead, the massive sphere of the earth rotated on its invisible axis. At our feet, under the clear floor, was our own realm: Hell. It boiled in its sweltering madness; the constant dark clouds of the sky parted as we walked, to give us a proper view downward. I searched beneath, to see if I could notice the minor details of buildings being altered. From here I could only really see the change in color in the burgeoning districts of sin. Casa Diablo sat perched on Mount Belial as always. The rolling desert sands waited in their loneliness. Over our heads, Heaven shone. I understood that this portion of the room never changed. Mary had explained that this version of Heaven was a static representation only, yet Earth and Hell were connected somehow to this model. Anything that was altered in those worlds would be reflected here in this room. I glanced at my watch again. We would have a few minutes yet to wait.