by Ryan Hill
“Are you a poseur?” I asked.
Arthur raised his eyebrows, making the lines on his forehead more pronounced. “What?”
“You’re dressed up just like Don Ho,” I tsked. “But there’s no way you can do the Hula in the shape you’re in, so I’ll repeat my question. Are you a poseur?”
“You’re lucky I’ve been around long enough to get that reference,” Arthur said, straightening himself and puffing out his chest. “Kenan believes in a relaxed work environment.”
“Sure he does.” I pointed at Jurgen, but kept my eyes on Arthur. “Will you sock Arthur in the jaw? Don’t worry, he’s a poseur. I mean pansy. Do mind the shattered glass from his jaw, however.”
“You need to help Jurgen,” Sam said.
I glanced over at the musician, now, and saw that he was shaking, the tremors getting worse across his body. The pianist’s eyes were as big as grapefruits, his face contorted in a concoction made of fear and anger. It suddenly dawned on me that Jurgen was face-to-face with his tormentor from centuries ago. The one who’d made him into the Jekyll and Hyde monster.
Crap.
“Don’t do it,” I said. “Don’t let the monster take care of Arthur. Do it yourself.”
“He won’t,” Arthur said with a laugh. “Look at him. He’s too afraid.”
“Are you going to take that?” I asked Jurgen. “Give it to that bloated, coconut bra-wearing pansy like a man.”
Jurgen somehow made a fist through the tremors. It was clear he was fighting the transformation, but I wondered if he needed some positive reinforcement. I’d heard artists needed that every now and then. Otherwise they cut their ear off.
“You’re doing this for all of us,” I said. “America. The Fatherland. A big, fat, juicy bratwurst with relish.”
Jurgen pulled back his shaking fist. I hoped it would have more impact than an inflatable beach ball.
“Come on,” Sam said. “You can do it.”
Duffy clapped. “Go Jurgen!”
“Do it for the Fatherland,” I said. “For–”
Jurgen screamed, putting all his might into the punch. I couldn’t help but imagine him connecting with Arthur’s nose with such force that it jammed the cartilage into his brain, killing him on the spot and giving the pianist the revenge he’d craved. I’d have taken a few bottles from upstairs and drank to Jurgen’s victory as the two of us stood over Arthur’s dead body.
Instead, Jurgen’s haymaker stopped mid-strike, with barely enough room to slip a piece of paper between his fist and Arthur’s face.
Odd.
Momentum should’ve kicked in, ensuring the punch connected.
“I get it,” I said. “I do. This version of you doesn’t condone violence. That’s okay. If you could grow claws, I’d happily trade places with you.”
“He’s not afraid,” Sam said. “He’s frozen.”
I studied Jurgen’s features. His face, contorted in a weird, angry freeze frame, didn’t move. Arthur stepped back, away from the pianist’s fist.
“How about that,” I said.
“Right?” Kenan descended the steps in his Crocs. “You want to see me do it again?”
Kenan snapped his fingers before I could respond.
Great.
He’d made me a mannequin too. Remy removed my claws from his throat, then moved around to face me. One hand covered his neck, trying to stop the bleeding.
“The other thing I had to do was keep you down here until Kenan arrived,” he said.
Sneaky.
“I wonder…” Remy flicked me in the eyeball. It didn’t hurt because of whatever black magic Kenan used to freeze me, but it still wasn’t appreciated.
“We got to Remy early,” Kenan said. “Don’t blame him. He feels awful about everything.”
“It’s true,” Remy said.
“Keeping him around almost wasn’t worth it,” Kenan said as he stepped past Arthur and Jurgen. “Every other thing out of his mouth was he felt so bad about being forced to do all the things he’s done. It gets annoying after a while.”
Like a broken record.
Upstairs, when someone said they were sorry and showed true remorse, angels comforted them. Provided a shoulder to cry on. The little cherubs existed to serve souls in search of peace. Downstairs was the complete opposite. There, the demons used the souls as servants, forcing them to help come up with new and creative methods of torture. Kenan, of course, wasn’t tied to either methodology. He could’ve killed Remy at any point, ending the constant apologizing. The fact that he didn’t meant Remy was of use. It made me happy to know the Creole inadvertently grated on Kenan with an endless amount of apologies. Not that it mended any fences in our relationship, but it brought a smile to my face. At least it would’ve, had I not been frozen.
Remy stepped to the side, allowing Kenan to get inches from my face.
“See, why waste all that time and energy dragging you and your friend down here,” he said, turning toward Jurgen. “When we could wait for you to try to save your girlfriend, and then capture you?”
Wow. That was a smart idea. I’d killed so many people because they never thought of that. Granted, I was in the same position as those poor saps at the moment, but that didn’t take anything away from the genius of it all. Though, why did they want Sam and I? To keep us safely tucked away while they created Paradise? To end us, sending me to Hell—I was guessing—and her to Heaven? Even after interrogating that one Mop Top with Jurgen earlier, the Caelo’s plans for Sam and I were still a quagmire.
Kenan nodded to Arthur, who pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, jingled them, and unlocked the barred door. Remy tried to pick me up and carry me into the cell, but I was too heavy. He rubbed his back, then dragged me across the stone floor, letting me come to a stop next to Sam. Arthur followed suit, dragging in Jurgen, and Remy slammed the door behind us. Arthur returned the keys to his pocket.
Kenan waved his hands, releasing us from our frozen spell. Both of us wobbled around, readjusting to using our muscles for balance. I held a hand against the wall to keep upright and watched Kenan and Arthur disappear up the stairs. Remy stayed behind, remaining on guard.
I locked eyes with Duffy, then nodded toward the stairwell. He scrunched his forehead. I nodded again. He scratched his head. Why did I even bother sometimes?
Suddenly his eyes widened. “You want me to spy on them?”
I lowered my head and nodded. If all kids were that dim, Hell would have a field day in the coming years.
“Agent Duffy on the case.” He gave me a thumbs up, then rushed up the stairs.
I grabbed two bars and tried to peel them apart. They didn’t move. It was like trying to pull Excalibur out of that dumb rock. A swift kick to the bars resulted in a vibrating leg. I rolled to the floor, grabbing my ankle.
“Kenan reinforced the bars with his magic,” Sam said.
“Thanks for the heads up.” The bones in my leg screeched, like an angry old woman screaming at a kid for knocking over her trash can.
“You don’t need to do that anyhow,” Remy said. “I doubt you’ll be here much longer.”
“You going to let us out?” I slid back, my elbow brushing against Sam.
“Soon, I guess.” The Creole ran his hands through his hair. “Whenever they tell me to.”
“Do you know what big surprise they want Sam and me for?” I asked. “I know they’re creating Paradise here, tonight, but how do Sam and I play into it? Are you trying to replace Heaven?”
“Those are some heavy questions,” Remy said. “But I don’t know the answers. They’ve kept me in the dark on most everything. I figure they know I’d rat them out faster than the time I caught Louis Pincheaux stealing Ole Momma Broussard’s shrimp creole recipe if I knew any of the juicy details.”
“I didn’t know that about Paradise either,” Sam said. “Nice work.”
I brushed my shoulder, acting like a big deal. “That’s how I roll.”
“Remy, di
d you overhear anything?” Sam asked. “Anything at all?”
“You’ve got to know something,” I said. “Do they want us for ritual sacrifice? For use as piñatas on Taco Tuesday? What?”
“I really don’t know,” Remy said.
Well. That sucked. It would’ve been nice if the Creole had an inkling of an idea about the Caelo’s intentions for us. For all I knew, they just wanted to sit on us until they’d created Paradise. Afterwards, maybe they’d let us go free, considering they would have already won and all.
“Then time’s a wasting.” I snapped my fingers. “Get us out of here.”
“No can do.”
“Can’t you do some kind of voodoo mess to break whatever hold they have on you?” I asked. “This is beyond ridiculous. I thought you were stronger than the average bear.”
“I thought so, too.” Remy moved against the opposite wall, closing his arms. “Kenan got to me the night I called in the favor, soon after you left the store. Hell, you almost passed each other.” He sighed and lowered his head. “I hate it. I’ve never come across a spell this powerful before. I’ve usually been able to kick anything thrown at me.” Remy’s face tightened. “All I can say is this stinks, and I’m sorry.”
I considered accepting his apology, but not enough time had passed since he melted me.
“Have you tried slamming your head against the wall as hard as you can?” I asked. “Speaking for myself, that would make me feel better.”
Remy let out a small smile. “I can’t cause undue harm to myself.”
“Well they thought of everything, didn’t they?”
“I hate that Kenan did that to you.” Jurgen leaned against the bars, biting his fingernails. “I should’ve let the beast tear him to pieces. I’m sorry.”
“You did the right thing,” Sam said. “If you’d turned, we might all be dead.”
Jurgen spit out a fingernail. “You think we aren’t dead anyway?”
Watching the pianist, I realized that there was a way out of this cell. The other Jurgen. Granted, Sam was right: The beast could kill all of us without missing a beat, and if the pianist turned, that would be the most likely outcome. But it wasn’t like things were all flowers and smiles at the moment. Like Jurgen said, we were most likely dead anyway. Perhaps the beast would ignore Sam and me if we could somehow direct its attention toward Remy.
The odds were about as good as the Cleveland Browns winning the Super Bowl, but it beat sitting around, waiting for the Caelo in Terra to have their fun with us.
All Jurgen needed was a little push.
Sam leaned in close. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I asked, barely making a whisper.
“Set him off.”
“Why not? It would get us out of here.”
“What good does that do if we’re all dead?” Sam hissed. “We can’t risk it and you know it.”
Bless it all. Sam was right, the risk was too great. Even if Jurgen’s other half got us out, we still had to deal with Kenan and his wig gang. Considering what the ex-demon did to the jail cell—and Remy—I had to give the upper hand to the home team.
Jurgen’s other half might get us out of the cell—but I didn’t think we could control him long enough to get us out of the mansion entirely.
“So, what?” I asked. “We sit on our asses and wait?”
“Pretty much.”
I huffed. “Do you have a spoon? We could dig our way out.”
“No spoon,” Sam said.
I kicked the cell door. It should’ve flown open, but no luck. I hopped up and down, the bones in my leg vibrating again.
“Cut it out,” Remy said. “I don’t want to get Kenan back down here.”
I fell to the floor next to Sam. “Fine. We sit on our asses and wait.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Building Blocks of Paradise
Almost an hour passed. Jurgen and I theorized on how the Caelo in Terra would kill us while Sam sat in silence, disapproving of the conversation. I couldn’t entirely keep to her idea of sitting around and waiting, having tried to pick the cell door’s lock with my claw, but it was no use. I even tried to pry open the bars with my superhuman strength, but they didn’t budge. No, the only way the three of us were getting out of that cell was if someone wanted us to get out.
Remy flicked his mouth, mimicking the sound of water dripping. He’d been doing it for the past twenty minutes. I banged the back of my head against the wall.
“Can you not do that?” I asked.
Remy had a dazed, blank look in his eyes as he made the sound again.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Are you under a spell that makes you annoying as Heaven too?”
“No,” the Creole said.
“So, it just comes naturally?”
Remy stammered, trying to come up with a snappy comeback. I figured that whatever Kenan had done slowed Remy’s cognitive skills, but that didn’t mean he’d get a free pass.
Suddenly, Duffy shouted from the stairs; his ghost steps were silent as he barreled into the dungeon and narrowly missed running through Remy.
“You have to get out of here,” Duffy said. “They’re coming.”
“We can’t,” Sam mouthed. She pointed to the bars. “Magic.”
“But they’re coming right now.”
I wished I had a Get out of jail free card. I’d hand it over to Kenan, go free, call it a day, and drink a case of wine. Cheap wine. Train wrecks like this didn’t deserve the good stuff. But if Kenan and company were coming to collect us at that moment, there was no more need to keep quiet.
“You were supposed to get back long before them,” I said. “So we could come up with a plan.”
“Who are you talking to?” Remy asked.
“The spirit of your long-lost grandmother,” I said. “She’s very unhappy with your hygiene. She thinks you need a shave and a haircut as soon as possible.”
“I came as quickly as I could,” Duffy said. “They were decorating this big stage thing, and I was trying to find out what it was, like you asked.”
“I can’t talk to this kid anymore.” I gestured to Sam. “You talk to him.”
Then we heard several footsteps making their way down the steps. If Duffy had anything of use for us, he needed to spit it out.
“Duffy, what are they going to do?” Sam asked.
Remy shouted toward the steps. “Hey, there’s something else down here with them.”
“It’s weird,” Duffy said. “They said they need you for some good and evil thing.”
Sam stood, her interest piqued. “A sacrifice? Is that what they want?”
“Yep,” Duffy said.
Kenan, Bunny, and Arthur came into view from the steps at that point and Remy, like the good, eager beaver they’d turned him into, tattled on us about talking to Duffy. Arthur unlocked the cage.
“Showtime,” he said.
“Are we putting on a play?” I asked. “Some sort of dog and pony show?”
“You could say that.”
Sam and Jurgen started to leave the cell, but I held them back.
“We don’t go on stage without a signed contract, cash up front, and a bowl full of candy that is only red.”
“Was the wine you helped yourselves to not enough?” Kenan asked.
I crossed my arms. “It’s not our fault if you leave bottles of priceless wine lying around.”
Kenan held an open palm toward me and an unseen force wrapped around me, making my ribs hurt. He closed his palm and pulled it close, which in turn yanked me out of the jail cell and brought me face-to-face with the former demon.
“Are you going to put words in my mouth too?” I asked. “I’d like to know if you’re going to make me a ventriloquist’s dummy.”
Kenan used his other hand to drag Sam out beside me. Jurgen cursed at the former demon, prompting a guttural laugh, and Kenan flicked his wrist and slammed the cell’s door shut.
“Don’t worry, you’ll ge
t your turn,” he said. “We’ve got the Spanish Donkey ready to go.”
Jurgen went pale and staggered backward against the wall. “Scheisse.”
After some forceful prodding, Sam and I followed Kenan up the stairs. Once we were in the wine cellar I grabbed a shelf, trying to tip it over and send every single bottle to an early grave. It pained me to destroy the wine, but a douche like Kenan didn’t deserve such a fine reserve. I’d rather the wine went to waste than belong to the ex-demon. My hands slipped off the shelves, though. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get a grip.
“That’s immature,” Kenan said. He must’ve used his magic to prevent me from getting any sort of grasp. “You can be mad at me, but don’t take it out on the wine.”
“I’ll take it out on anyone or anything I blessed well please.”
Duffy reached the top of the steps and tried to break some wine bottles, but his ghost hands went straight through them. “Break, you stupid bottles.”
“A for effort kid,” I said.
Kenan couldn’t see Duffy, meaning the ghost couldn’t affect the physical world. It was a shame.
“Sorry.”
“No worries. Now get out of here.”
Duffy stopped, confused. “Why?”
“Some bad stuff is going down, and you don’t want to be anywhere near here when it happens.”
“He’s right,” Sam said. “Go.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Do you want these guys to finish what they started with you?” I asked. “Suck up your soul?”
“No.”
“Then get the Heaven out of here.”
“Fine.” Duffy’s voice cracked as he spoke.
The ghost turned and rushed up the stairs and through Arthur, who was coming the other way. Powell stopped, like he’d felt Duffy’s presence.
“Hairs on the back of your neck standing up?” I asked.
Arthur smirked, then glanced down at the Ring of the Gods on my finger. The televangelist ran rubbed his chin, a greedy look in his eyes.
“Kenan, can you freeze this self-righteous ass for me?” Arthur asked. “I’d like to take something back that belongs to me.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “If you want the ring so bad, fight me for it.”