Hell's Belle

by Marie Castle

  I sighed, opening the heavy truck door. The hinges I’d been meaning to oil protested. I turned, sliding off the old vinyl seats. Nicodemus had picked well who to send after me. I wouldn’t hurt these guys. They looked strong, but it wouldn’t take much to overload their hearts, leading to a quick death. I really hoped the cameras Mynx had rigged to the cab’s hood hadn’t suffered the same fate as my windshield. With any luck, our team was nearby, using the cameras to search for the rest of our missing people.

  “Lay on, Macduff.” I swept my arm toward the stage, arching a brow as they moved to either side of me but didn’t remove my weapons. Not that I was complaining. As my grandpa would have said, “Looking a gift horse in the mouth is a damn fine way to git bit.”

  They led me to where a set of stairs, hidden just outside the light’s reach, led up to the wide stage. The boys stopped at the stairs, waiting. So much for my gallant escorts.

  Shrugging, I adjusted my guns and stepped onto the first stair, listening. Under the sound of cicadas and other natural life, wood creaked and groaned as heavy bodies moved across the stage’s decking. Now would’ve been a good time to develop a sense of self-preservation.

  Too bad my timing had always sucked.

  I took one deep breath and headed up, keeping an eye on the two boys below. There was no rail so I stayed close to the wall which held the old white screen’s remains. The stage was only chin-high, but falling off would leave me helpless for a few critical seconds. Reaching the top, I took two steps then stopped, leaving the headlight’s brightness, allowing my eyes to adjust.

  “Lights!” shouted a deep voice I recognized from last Sunday’s run as Nicodemus’s. The theater’s bright security lighting flashed on.

  Nearly blinded, I blinked, using a hand to shield my eyes. Two men sat on a dais at the opposite end. Recognizing Wellsy, I turned my gaze to the second man. Domini Roskov, the third “survivor” of the Virginia coal mine cave-in. Or rather, I should say, Nicodemus. I didn’t need to see his face to know Nicky-boy inhabited Roskov, but seeing erased my last shred of uncertainty. I’d been expecting the Russian vampire once known as Wall Street’s miracle man. First Peter, then Wellsy, now Roskov. It was enough to make a girl wonder what had really happened to the illusionist reported missing, now presumed dead, in that same cave-in.

  But that was a quandary for another night when I didn’t have two evil-possessed sorcerers decked out in tuxedos and top hats before me. I quickly took in the scene. A silvery looking cage held an unconscious, half-Wered-out Becca. Her clothes and fur were covered with large ugly burns. I sniffed discreetly, not detecting any silver. Maybe the cage was just another ugly prop. Brit’s neck and face were bruised, her shirt and jeans ripped in an almost scandalous manner. A collar and chain bound her to the floor at Roskov’s feet. Her eyes were bright with defiance, but thankfully she remained silent.

  Isabella was there, dressed in a frilly white nightgown that stopped three inches above her knees. Combined with the heels and makeup, it would never be considered old-fashioned. I wasn’t sure if she was supposed to look like a Havana cigarette girl or fulfill the virgin sacrifice section of Nicodemus’s little drama. The gown went well with the silver cuffs that matched Becca’s cage, which Isabella was attached to, and if that wasn’t enough, several raptors stood guard around them. Sitting with knees tucked under her, Isabella had pushed her free arm through the bars, touching the motionless Becca.

  Inside, my dark side was screaming through the walls of its own cage. And for once I was in complete agreement, but I forced my eyes away, fearing I’d do something stupid—like start a war with only my army of one. I flexed my fingers, forcing open the hands I’d unconsciously fisted.

  In true Southern tradition, they’d converted what might’ve once been La-Z Boy recliners into three thrones. But I was willing to bet the red jewels glittering in the lights weren’t rhinestones and the gold wasn’t glitter paint. It was stunts like this that gave the South a bad name. At least I could argue that these two and their Graceland-reject décor were transplants, assuming Wellsy’s and Roskov’s bodies didn’t house the ghosts of hillbillies past.

  The thrones were garish, tacky, probably expensive, and comfortable—judging from the way Nicodemus was seated in the largest middle chair with chin in hand and one leg thrown over an overstuffed gilded leather arm. I wondered if this was magic wrought…or bought by the Kin’s stolen funds. I shook my head. It didn’t really matter. Either way, those things were ugly. They could be stuffed with hundred dollar bills, and they’d still be ugly. An expensive ugly, mind you, but ugly nonetheless.

  Hiding my concern, I addressed the sorcerers. “I didn’t realize the circus was in town.” My voice echoed across the expanse of empty parking spaces now visible under the bright lighting. “I’ve been thinking about a career change.” I gestured to the stage. “If you’d told me you were here, I might’ve joined up.”

  The lounging Nicodemus stood. His eager, happy expression creeped me out more than the herd of raptors and tuxedo-clad vampires surrounding the stage. With so many here, I couldn’t help but wonder who was guarding the dark section behind and at the far corners of the screen.

  “No, Miss Delacy. We are no circus but merely humble players upon this stage.” At my arched brow, Nicodemus tsked before continuing cajolingly, “Don’t judge us so harshly, dear Cate. Oh, yes I know your name. As I’m sure you know mine, so we’ll skip the intros.”

  Wellsy cleared his throat, interrupting from his position in the throne to the far right. “Actually, brother, I believe she doesn’t know mine.”

  Nicodemus clamped his hand on the other man’s (corpse’s?) shoulder. “You’re right, brother. And when it comes to recording history, it’s important to get everything just so.” He turned to me. “Yes, well, Miss Delacy, as you probably know, I am Nicodemus, and this is my brother, Artus. We are of the House of S’luoth. We’ll go over the spelling later.”

  What in the seven levels of Hell was this? I didn’t bother to hide my confusion. I’d expected to arrive and have them try to blast me, skewer me, or, at the least, try to slather my blood all over the gate to enhance their ceremony—not be turned into some sort of glorified note-taker.

  Before I could comment, Nicodemus continued, “Your presence is such a pleasant surprise.” He rubbed his hands together. “And here I had given up on having a guardian to witness this momentous occasion.” He waved his arm wide. “But you are here, making the setting perfect. And now we simply wait for the ringmaster, as you might say, to truly begin the ceremonies.” Nicodemus gave me a leer that made me want to immediately go home and take another shower. “But believe me, when it’s all over, we’ll find a position for your many talents.”

  I made a sound somewhere between a snort and laugh. Good Goddess, they were just a bunch of old letches in new bodies. Or considering that Roskov was over eight hundred years old, that might be young letches in old bodies. If they hadn’t been full of an unholy power that buzzed against my senses, making my skin want to crawl off my bones, it might have been funny.

  And I suppose, most would have been flattered. My definition of beauty had recently changed, but according to the articles I’d read, many had found Roskov’s blond, fit, fortyish-looking body handsome. Nicodemus’s white tuxedo shirt was unbuttoned halfway, no doubt as a concession to his vanity, revealing smooth hairless skin and a sculpted chest. Compared to Artus’s tall, graying figure, Nicodemus looked like he could pose for the Kin’s mag, VQ. But though the body looked the same, there was nothing left of Roskov there. One look in the empty black eyes confirmed this.

  Nicodemus’s voice was the same, but nowhere was the gnarled face I’d first seen in Gulfport. Oddly enough, he looked exactly like his photo. Wellsy, or rather Artus, too, looked as he had the night of the mine collapse. They did smell a little decayed but not to Titus’s degree. Only Brittan, Isabella and Becca looked as expected. That is, if one expected a cross between the Ringling Brothers and
the sci-fi flick Alien.

  More silent figures stood behind the thrones, half-hidden in shadows. They lacked the vampires’ bulk and menace, making them easy to distinguish as the missing college students. Nicodemus looked impatient while Artus looked bored. This was getting stranger and stranger.

  My mother had always told me, “When in doubt, tell the truth. If nothing else, it’ll confuse the hell out of people.” It seemed like a good plan and I knew it worked. I was certainly confused by the shit Nicodemus was shoveling my way. Maybe I could share the wealth.

  “That was a nice speech,” I said.

  Nicodemus smiled wide, flashing his fangs. Finally, something that fit my expectations. His broken, jagged teeth were red-brown, like dried blood. He took a step toward me. Artus shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  I raised a hand. “But it wasn’t the best I’ve heard, and believe me,” I rolled my eyes, “I’ve heard quite a few.” Artus smiled at the perceived insult to his brother. Hmm, not everyone was happy with the pecking order.

  I filed that information away to use later, rushing to explain in my sweetest I’m-just-a-naïve-Southern-belle-educate-me voice, “So, what is it that makes you two different from all the others set on world domination? I don’t need your full résumé.” I gestured widely. “A few key points will do.” I tucked a stray hair behind my ear and smiled my best Miss America smile, all the while scanning the darkness out of the corner of my eye for my overdue rescuers.

  It would be my luck that they were lost. Hopefully, they knew better than to follow one of those electronic navigators. Those things didn’t work in the backwoods…unless your goal was to get plugged with buckshot for driving into the wrong driveway at the wrong time of night. If that was the case, then they worked just fine.

  Nicodemus nodded, saying with a smile he probably thought was charming, “All will be revealed in good time.”

  What? I stood there shocked. I finally wanted the bad guys to make a speech, and they’d decided to shut up. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for an evil villain that would cooperate.

  “Would you care to join us?” Nicodemus patted the empty throne’s arm. “It’s my understanding that our brother, Titus, will be absent this evening, providing a free seat.”

  Wow, Titus had said these two were his brothers, but they didn’t seem to care that he wouldn’t be coming back. Or maybe they didn’t realize that I’d literally fed him to the fishes and he wouldn’t be rising again to return the favor.

  An image flashed through my mind: my blood and utter desolation. I knew on a soul-deep level that it was imperative that they not get me and the power in my blood—not just the guardian power, but also the demon. I’d come here so confident that my big mouth and my status as a guardian would keep me out of trouble until everyone was in position. I’d been wrong.

  I could almost hear the I told you so’s now.

  Okay, plan B: stall and act stupid. The latter suddenly didn’t seem too far of a stretch. I made a show of relaxing, easing my feet apart, resting on my heels. But I made no move forward. “Well, far be it from me to be a bad guest, but I do have a few questions before we powwow.” I rested my hands on my belted hips, the same belt holding a nice array of spells and amulets. I started to palm a few then decided to keep my hands free. “You see, I’m a curious, cautious sort. It’s an odd mixture, I know.”

  Artus nodded. He didn’t know me personally, but he could access Wellsy’s memories.

  “And I’m a bit concerned that I could be so wrong. You don’t look like I expected, which makes you a stranger in my book. And you know what they say about little girls and strangers.”

  Just then, a raptor strayed away from Becca’s cage. “Nice doggie.” Eyes widening, I let a little fear leak into my voice, stepping left as it veered too close. I gave the beast a little wave, quickly tucking my hands around my belt as it eyed my wiggling fingers like a hungry toddler eying chicken nuggets. The fear in my voice was real. I was rather fond of my fingers…all ten of them…and I wanted to keep them attached. I gritted my teeth, nails biting into the belt’s leather, again suppressing the wave of fire that wanted to surface. If the others didn’t arrive soon, I might just start blasting and damn the consequences.

  Expecting a reply, I jumped when Artus crossed an ankle over his knee then casually flicked his wrist, throwing a ball of black-magic that blasted the raptor off the stage. It screamed in pain, and I flinched but didn’t move, eyes riveted to Artus’s face, waiting for a second blast. He’d killed that creature without a glance, without thought, the action almost second nature. This was one to watch, possibly more so than his brother. At least Nicodemus showed emotion, no matter how insane, and emotion predicted action.

  Artus’s cold haughty expression remained unchanged as he said, “I believe this is a question we can answer. These bodies’ powers were great before we took them. Combined with our power, they are enough to show these forms as they once were.”

  “But perhaps you would prefer this,” Nicodemus said, gesturing to himself and Artus. They melted away, revealing two men even more horrendous than Titus. At the sudden, overwhelming smell of rotting meat, I gagged. Both men laughed, the sound a deep cold wheezing bark. Artus was bad enough with his broken teeth and purplish skin hanging on bones that had lost most of their flesh. But Nicodemus? The virus that makes the Blood what they are had obviously fought the infusion of dark power. The ensuing battle had twisted his limbs, bloating his skin with baseball-sized whelps in some spots, reversely pitting it in others. Some of the whelps had opened, forming sores with black and green pus oozing out. Bare of skin, the pitted areas revealed pieces of rotting muscle clinging to grisly, gray-colored bones.

  And unfortunately, the tuxedos were no illusion. The corpses looked even worse next to the pristine shirts and black jackets. To hell with vanity, that man needed to button up his shirt.

  As if reading my thoughts, a congenial Nicodemus said, “Brother, I do believe the lady remains…unimpressed.” He cocked his head, raising his arm. “We must remedy that. It is truly unsociable to have a guest be uncomfortable.”

  If those had been my words, they would’ve been dripping with sarcasm, but Nicodemus sounded sincere. I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or drop my mouth open in disbelief. Deciding discretion might be the better part of sanity, I kept my mouth shut.

  A boy silently stepped from the darkness behind the thrones to Nicodemus’s side. Nicodemus caressed the boy’s cheek before pulling his head back by the hair. Nicodemus’s fangs almost lovingly slipped into the pale, arching neck. He raised his lips, crimson with blood, and smiled, flashing broken molars. I clamped my lips shut. He gestured again, and their appearances returned to their earlier state. The horrible smell of death decreased drastically. I took a relieved breath.

  This time, I felt the circle of dark magic. The missing boys did more than hold power. Nicodemus had linked them all together somehow, and the magic didn’t stop at Nicodemus and his brother. I swiveled my head in horror, looking back at Brit.

  Somehow, I’d missed seeing the plastic line running into her arm. Dark red blood flowed from another boy behind her, through the line, and into Brit’s veins. Her jaw was swollen, her left eye already sporting a nice shiner, explaining why she hadn’t tried to pull the line out. Nicodemus or one of his people would simply knock her unconscious and put it in again.

  Fortunately, the ceremony hadn’t begun, and Brit wasn’t holding much power. They’d have to kill Isabella for that, and we wouldn’t let things go that far. But little nips of black-magic flowed back and forth with the blood, explaining the occasional flash of pain on Brit’s face. She didn’t have to hold much to feel the effects.

  “Have you figured it out yet, little gate-keeper?”

  I looked to Artus. He and Nicodemus smiled at me with those broken teeth. Either their magic didn’t hide everything, or they wanted me to see that small detail. I tried to understand but couldn’t. They’d turned the missing students int
o a large, magic superconductor. They’d grabbed Brit for the same purpose and were now about to open the gate. What they’d done to the boys…it was overkill. And if they were about to open a gate, they no longer needed Brit to hold power that could be funneled directly into the darkmirror during the ceremony. With their collected capabilities and stolen bodies, the sorcerers could’ve opened the gate themselves or with only one or two vessels. They’d laid out a nice jigsaw puzzle for me then put half the pieces through a shredder.

  ”Wh—” A loud boom cut me off. A massive roaring rumble punctuated by the sharp staccato of more explosions sounded from somewhere far behind the movie screen. The ground shook with each boom, and the stage started to sway. Everyone, including myself and the sorcerers, stumbled as the wooden structure dipped precariously.

  I grabbed onto a piece of wood jutting from the screen, uncaring as splinters ripped into my hands, looking in time to see a fleeing raptor knock Brit off her feet. Her shout was drowned out as more raptors rushed from the stage. The wooden planks were barely tilted, but with every shaking thud of the raptors’ heavy feet, they bounced, which slid Brit farther and farther down the smooth boards. Her trip was halted by the collar and chain. A fall from the stage wouldn’t have been as harmful as the position she was now in. With each jar, her body shifted downward, turning the collar into a noose.

  Using the crumbling screen, I tried to make my way to Brit. White-knuckled, she had a death grip on the chain and was using her arms to hold the weight off her neck. But she could only keep that up for so long. Becca’s heavy cage appeared unaffected. Isabella gripped the bars with both hands. Most of their tenacious raptor guard had dug their claws in and managed to stay put. Despite the commotion, Becca had yet to awaken, and I was getting concerned.

  I made it halfway across before another section of Becca and Isabella’s raptor guard left to take up defensive positions on the ground around the stage. I clenched my jaw as their exit forced Brit’s body roughly against her constraints time and again. Finally, they were past and the stage stopped swaying. I breathed a sigh of relief as Brittan pulled herself up the planks until there was once again slack in the chain. I halted, uncertain, waiting.