The Road to Hell

by Jackie Kessler

  Being dead sucked. I so wasn't going to do this again.

  Even this high up, the smell of the Underworld filled the air—rotten eggs and acrid heat that was almost palpable; sewage and sweat and the tangy scent of fear. Problem was, it was my fear I smelled, which took the fun right out of it. Beneath us—way, way, way, way, way beneath us—the Lake churned. If I fell from this height, would I hit the bottom of the Lake?

  Huh. Did the Lake even have a bottom?

  Sounds drifted up from the Third Sphere, pulled me out of my thoughts of free falling: shrieks of the damned, vocal chords straining, voices filled with tears; laughter of their tormentors, burbling with mirth. The screams and the guffaws mingled, forming a cacophony of joyous misery. But as I listened to the music of the Underworld, I thought the chortles sounded forced, almost as desperate as the mortal pleas for mercy.

  "Look, babes." Daun's deep voice reverberated in the air like thunder. "Hell, scurrying beneath your hooves. See how it's changed?"

  "All I see from here is the Lake."

  He clucked his tongue. "Then you're not looking hard enough."

  We moved, cutting through the red-tinged air. Daun soared with confident strokes of his wings, as if he'd been created to ride the wind. All I can say for me is that I didn't vomit. The last time I'd flown anywhere was when Meg had taken me to the First Sphere, before the Announcement that had rocked the Abyss to its core.

  She didn't drop you, Peaches whispered. Neither will Daun.

  Yeah, but what if I weigh too much for him to hold?

  Peaches sighed. Daun's right, you know. Sometimes you're such a girl.

  Go fuck yourself.

  Okay, a naughty girl. But still a girl.

  As we flew, my fear slowly ebbed, replaced with a dawning horror. Daun was right: Hell had changed. Dramatically. "Where's the Wall?"

  "The King destroyed it, about a week after you hoofed it to the mortal coil." I heard the rage in Daun's voice, felt the tension in his arms and stomach as he carried me. "Said we had no reason to hide our glory. Glory. Pfaugh!" He spat, and his loogey spiraled down, disappeared somewhere over Hell.

  Me, I'd always thought the Great Wall that had surrounded the periphery of Hell was rather gratuitous. It's not like we really needed to defend ourselves against invaders. And let's face it: the damned weren't going anywhere. Other than the mortal intimidation factor, I hadn't seen any purpose to the Wall. But still, it had been ours—a colossal, defining characteristic of the Abyss.

  And now it was gone—apparently in a blaze of glory. Somehow, I doubted the King was on a Bon Jovi kick.

  All I could say was, "Wow." An incredible understatement, but it summed it up. "Just… wow."

  "And that's not the worst of it," Daun said. "Look down at the boundaries."

  Beneath us, I clearly made out the peripheral shape of the Pit: an extremely elongated oval, with a neck at the crest that served as the entrance to damnation. I didn't see the mighty Gates. Gone, I realized—without the Wall, there could be no Gates. My heart shriveled. I'd always liked those wrought iron fortifications, with the placard of welcome hanging over them, attached by severed hands. All creatures had been required to pull a stint as Gateskeeper on a rotating basis. When it had been my turn at the Gates, I would enjoy examining each new mortal entrant to the Pit, sniffing out each sin and confirming that yes, this person was damned. I loved tasting fear wafting from the souls of the truly evil, enjoyed sharing my brethren's infernal victory over another job well done.

  All that, gone.

  Outlined in the blue-threaded orange of the Lake of Fire, Hell sprawled, its heat-baked surface glowing with the colors of various Sins. Northwest was the powder blue of Sloth, its snake pits reduced to black dots along the rocky terrain. Bordering it to the east was the red glow of Wrath, home to Beserkers and those mortals who had dedicated their lives giving into their rages. From this height, I couldn't see the dismembered body parts that littered the ground, but the Mount of Prometheus—where the enraged were chained until they didn't have enough limbs to be bound to anything but the inside of a plastic bag—stretched up like the Earth giving Heaven the finger.

  I squinted. Something looked off about the boundary between Sloth and Wrath, but I couldn't quite place it. Frowning, I scanned the rest of the Third Sphere, the plane of the damned and lowest level of Hell, trying to pinpoint what was different.

  Just south of the Berserkers, the turquoise of Envy spread out long, coming to a wide base, where the bulk of its freezing waters were kept in cast-iron tubs that could fit a hundred humans apiece. Beneath Envy was the squat, yellow land of Covet with its towering cauldrons of boiling oil (in pots of gold, of course). To the west of Covet were the Heartlands of Lust, their dark blue boundaries housing legions of bonfire mounds. The Pridelands stretched northwest of Lust, swathed in royal purple, their enormous instruments of torture winking beneath me like millions of fishhooks laid out in neat rows. At the ass-end of Hell, appropriately enough, sprawled Gluttony in all its vomit-green finery.

  Again, something nagged at me, like a tickle I couldn't scratch. Which, given how Daun hadn't allowed me to move yet, was spot on. "What's different?" I asked aloud, more to myself than to Daun.

  "The boundaries," he said again. "Take a good look."

  I stared at the section between Pride's purple and Lust's deep blue… and with a gasp, I saw it: the boundaries had blurred, bonding the lands of the Arrogant and the Seducers. The same for the boundary between Lust and Gluttony—the blue and olive green merged, softening the outlines of Sin.

  "How could the boundaries blur?" I said, my head spinning. Most of the denizens of the Abyss despised those not of their own Sin. And that was being generous. The Envious and the Greedy had hated each other for a slight impossible to explain or understand, from the very beginning of the Underworld. Pride and Lust had a deep loathing for one another that was almost as old. The Lazy, when they could be bothered to actually think, hated everything that moved. And so on. The only things that kept infernal tempers in check were the unmistakable boundaries of Sin. All demons could traverse all parts of the Third Sphere safely to deposit their mortal catches; no matter how the nefarious detested one another, we all played for the same team—and there were rules to follow. Without a mortal client in tow, however, demons traversed the Lands of Sin at their own risk outside of their home base. From as far back as I could remember, it had been that way.

  But now, with the boundaries softening, that could only lead to open conflict among the malefic. It was worse than throwing oil onto a raging fire.

  "He's reshaping the Abyss," Daun said with a snort. "He says it's a kind of shock treatment."

  "The King Himself is doing this?" I asked, stunned. I'd thought that maybe Hell was reshaping itself to reflect the mortal coil, with its ever-changing standards for Sin. "He's the one who said we were too soft, and this is His response—to soften the boundaries of Sin?"

  "Yep."

  I seriously wondered if the King of Hell was retarded.

  Daun growled, "He's dicking around with everything. The Kings of Sin are clawing at themselves, this close to declaring a war of Sin and Land. And that's not even getting into all the changes in the elite."

  My stomach lurched, but this time it had nothing to do with our flight. The elite of Hell never changed. Sort of like death and taxes were a given for the humans, the elite being permanent assholes of the Pit was a given for the lesser demonfolk. "What sort of changes?"

  "Rosey's gone," Daun said, his voice low-pitched, sharing a secret. "Our sovereign ruler destroyed him a few days ago."

  Rosier was—had been—the Prince of Lust, second only to King Asmodai. "Shit. What did he do to score oblivion?"

  "He bragged to Naberius how he was going to drop you at His feet, to show Him and all of Hell that he could clean up His mess."

  Eek. "Did he now."

  "The King got word of it. He summoned Rosey to His side and boom, demon ash all over
the Courtyard. It's how I earned my wings—there was a hole in the ranks, and Pan tapped me."

  My eyes widened. "Bless me, Daun—are you one of the elite?"

  "No. Not yet. But at the rate our Dread Lord is going, soon." He lowered his voice. "Rosey's not the only one He's destroyed. Just the most recent. He did it in front of the other Kings and principals, just before He etched the Great Rule onto the side of Abaddon."

  "The Great Rule?" Before the Announcement, there had been ten. After I ran, Daun had told me the King had blasted them off the side of the infernal palace. "What Rule?"

  "Look to the east, Jez."

  I turned my head and saw the looming mountain fortress of Pandemonium, home to all demons and other nefarious entities—and, towering above it, the black palace of Abaddon, gleaming, a dark jewel at the pinnacle of the Underworld. Even from this distance, I could make out the six-word command, etched in the palace wall:

  OBEY YOUR KING OR BE DESTROYED.

  Staring at those words, I felt my stomach knot.

  "There's a desperation in Hell that never used to be here before," Daun said, his voice whisper quiet. "Nothing you can easily place, but it's a feeling that's there all the same. The elite are paranoid, the Kings are itching for war. The place is rank with tension."

  "And the fumes from the Lake of Fire."

  "That's my babes," Daun said, "always quick to point out the obvious. You want down?"

  "Please."

  "So polite. Being human's screwed with your sensibilities."

  We flew down at a stomach-flipping speed. Bless me, I didn't know how birds managed their swan dives without barfing all over their feathers. Down, down, the land of Lust blooming beneath us, spreading out like a fungus, the screams and stench of burning humans assaulting my senses. Daun zoomed us past the main Burning Grounds, flying us over the heads of demons and damned alike, all too lost in their own torments to notice two more entities soaring past.

  As we approached the base of the Second Sphere, Daun slowed. The main path framed the bottom of the black mountain, leading up and in. Off to the left, another path veered around a crop of large boulders, leading to a hidden point beneath the ebon crag of Pandemonium.

  "Here we are," he said, finally coming to a halt. "You can move now."

  As my hooves touched the rocky soil, he shoved me away from him. Off balance, my legs tangled beneath me, and I stumbled to the ground. Demon fall down, go boom. Ash puffed around my face, and I spat dirt from my mouth. Nothing said Hell like a mouthful of barren soil.

  "The Abyss is nowhere near as fun as it used to be," Daun said.

  "I'm getting that." Propping myself up onto my elbows, I looked up at him. Staring down at me, Daun radiated sex, his long hair windswept, his arms folded over his broad chest. He could have been the cover model for demonic romance novels.

  "You chose to run away from Hell," he said. "You chose to become a human for real, complete with a soul. You're so big on choice, Jezebel. Well, here's another choice. Either stay with me here and be a demon once more, be true to who you really are. Or go in there, into the Caverns, and try to find your poor lost love. But if you do that, you do it without my help."

  "How can I choose?" I couldn't hide the bitterness from my voice, from my thoughts; it coated my tongue like vinegar. "You own me, Daun. You can tell me what to think. Anything I do, how can I know if that's really my choice?"

  He chuckled. "Well, I guess that's a chance you have to take. Now—either me, with all the hedonism that implies, or him, lost forever. Choose."

  I already had. From the moment I'd called Daun's name in Paul's apartment, I'd made my choice.

  Biting my lip before I spoke, I tried to think of the right words. Nothing came to me, so I told the truth—a former demon's last resort. "I love him, Daun. I have to go find him."

  His body showed no reaction; his face remained impassive. But his eyes… bless me, his eyes blazed hotter than any of Lust's bonfires. "Fine."

  How could a creature of Evil sound so hurt? So small? "Daun…"

  He motioned with his hand, and his heavy presence vanished from my mind. "I've released you. No more soul bond. You're free. For whatever that'll get you."

  "Thank you." I pulled myself up until I stood before him on wobbly legs. "I knew you would free me. You'd promised on your name."

  A smile flitted across his lips, cold, mirthless. "Demons lie, Jezzie. You should remember that. Go on, try to find your flesh puppet. But I'm not fishing you out when you get lost." His smile slid off his face. "You go in the Caverns, babes, you're on your own."

  I threw myself on him, wrapped him in my arms and planted a huge kiss on his cheek.

  "I'll be back," I said, hoping I wasn't a liar.

  "Uh huh," he said, shrugging out of my embrace. "Care to place a bet?"

  "I already have."

  "Bye, babes."

  "See you on the other side." With that, I turned away from him and marched into the Endless Caverns.

  Chapter 17

  The Endless Caverns

  There were lots of things that I missed about being a demon. My hair (whenever I had hair) had always been perfect, I'd never needed a bra no matter how well endowed I was, and my body had moved in ways that would make contortionists scream for mercy. But at the moment, the one thing I missed most about not having my infernal powers was being able to see in the dark.

  Scratch that. Dark was what happened at night. This wasn't dark. This was absolute blackness.

  Ouch. Yow! Fuck!

  Absolute blackness with about a zillion sharp rocks.

  Between my hooves and the thick pelt of hair swathing my lower limbs up to my pelvis, my feet and legs were well protected. But I was walking with my arms outstretched so that I wouldn't go face-first into anything nasty, so my hands and forearms wound up peppered with tiny lacerations from their accidental encounters with the rock-studded walls.

  I had no idea how long I'd been wandering around, blind. Stepping into the maw of the Caverns felt like forever ago—with that single, decisive step, everything around me had disappeared. Including the entrance. Turning back was not an option. And so that meant moving forward.

  Wherever that was.

  I'd long since yelled myself hoarse; obviously, no one was going to show up with a torch or a flashlight. Or the electric company. I'd even called Paul's name, knowing it was pointless, telling him that I was coming for him. Slowly. Blindly. Around me, the dank stench of the cave pressed into my flesh, weighed down my limbs. Whenever I opened my mouth, I tasted the humidity on my tongue. The only sounds I heard were my own hoof-falls and my curses whenever I sliced my hands against a jutting rock.

  Trapped in the Endless Caverns, I realized just how helpless I was… and just how lost I was getting. I had no idea what I was doing. Other than stumbling around in the dark and bleeding, that is. That I had pretty well covered.

  Mental note: Improve strategic planning skills.

  After a short infinity of nothing but cave smell and cave rocks, I met the cave wall. As in, my path was completely blocked. Cursing a blue streak, I turned to retrace my steps, but I bumped into a barrier that hadn't been there before. Crap. I pivoted to the left and walked four steps… and smacked into yet another wall. Grumbling as I rubbed my sore arm, I staggered three steps backward and came to a full stop, my back against another rocky wall face.

  Well, shit.

  Flummoxed, I sat on the floor. Time to brainstorm.

  I waited for insight.

  Come on, insight.

  Peaches? Any wisdom?

  Yeah. Don't go to Hell.

  Double shit.

  Blowing out a sigh, I closed my eyes. Which changed nothing, as I couldn't see worth a damn anyway.

  Sitting there, alone in the dark, I heard them: ghostly voices, whispers within the rocks, chittering like rats.

  Another?

  Another.

  What's this one?

  A lover.

  Qu
esting?

  Indeed.

  A demon?

  Half-breed.

  "Heya," I called out. "Can you hear me?"

  She asks us?

  She tasks us?

  Gah. Rhymers. I hated Rhymers. Stupid little elves. They always made me feel like I was trapped in a greeting-card store. My nose plugged from the stink of festering orange juice. "I'm looking for a mortal named Paul Hamilton."

  Take her?

  Oh yes.

  Take her.

  Make her guess.

  Where are we taking you?

  Hands—all over me, grabbing my face, my shoulders, my waist, my legs.

  "Hey!" I swatted at them, clawed them off, but still they came: small hands, vise-like, with tiny fingers that attached themselves to my flesh like suction cups. "Get off me!" Hands clamping over my breasts, my ass, my hooves, my wrists; fingers squirming over me, prying between my lips. "Quit it, you dumb cookie elves! Let go!"

  Hands plugging my mouth, wrapping around my throat.

  She screeches and screams.

  But she doesn't guess.

  Let's examine her dreams.

  Let's hear her confess.

  Hands hoisting me up, arms out, flat on my back, carrying me like a crucifix. Hands and disembodied voices everywhere, giggling, whispering, riddling in the bowels of Hell.

  When is a demon not really a demon?

  When it is really a mortal.

  What will she see, what will she hear—

  When she faces the flash and the portal?

  I bucked, I kicked, I thrashed my head and snapped my fangs, but to no avail—the invisible hands of the Rhymers carried me away, deeper into the darkness.

  When is a choice never a choice?

  When there is nothing to choose.

  Free it may be to one such as she—

  But if its free then there's nothing to lose.

  Please. Block my ears. If I had to listen to any more of the demonic nursery rhymes, I would lose my mind.