Welcome to Hell Box Set: Paranormal Romantic Comedy

by Demelza Carlton

  "No," the gate guard piped up, looking scared, "you did. It's right here in the Book of Judgement. You brought your Hellish weapon here and thrust it through her body."

  Luce gasped for breath. He did it. He did it. He'd killed her – the one person he'd ever loved.

  "She didn't deserve you, either," Michael said. "You'd only drag her down to Hell and hide her from all those who love and need her."

  I love her, Luce thought. No, I loved her. For she's forever gone to me, whether she lives or not. If she ever sees me again, her eyes will accuse and condemn. For I killed her. I killed her.

  "Some things can't be redeemed," he muttered. "Now I know what it is to be damned."

  Shadows swirled, summoned back to his dark soul. There was no light for him, not any more. Perhaps there never was. He belonged in Hell.

  Seventeen

  "You will never know the domination of Earth or Heaven. Your realm will be Hell and the boundaries of your rule. For your advisors, take the angels who fought for you, for they, too, will fall from Heaven, never to return. GO!" Michael waved his sword and the flames seemed to blaze higher than the angel behind them.

  Luce could feel fear in the archangel, but the sword Michael wielded was more powerful than any other weapon the worlds had known. Nevertheless, Luce knew he was right. "Those beings aren't perfect and they never will be. They will destroy all we've created here. They are few now, but they will outnumber us in time and, when that happens, they will stop listening. What will you do with them when they are not fit for Heaven or Earth any more?"

  "Why, we'll send them to you, to Hell. You and yours can punish them as you wish, as a deterrent to the rest. They can join you in permanent exile," Michael announced. The angels who followed him laughed.

  "What will you do when Hell is full?" Luce asked.

  "It won't be full until this world is ended. Then, we will speak again," Michael said, drawing back his sword.

  "Take your best shot," Luce growled, opening his arms wide. He wouldn't show fear or weakness, though he knew the other angel had won. Even exiled to Hell, he wouldn't acknowledge defeat. "And do not miss, for if I see you again, be assured that I will kill you."

  The burning blade drove deep into his chest before he could close his mouth.

  The pain was blinding, sending him to his knees. Luce struggled to speak, but Michael gave him no opportunity. He ripped the sword, now dripping with blood, from Luce's body. If Luce thought the pain from the entry wound was bad, he wasn't prepared for the agony of the exit. His vision went dark.

  "Fall, demon. You have no dominion here or on Earth. No one will help you now."

  Luce felt his body plummeting through darkness. The cold cling of cloud, the furious rush of wind, weightlessness in his limbs, yet still he fell. His body burned as if cloven in two by the sword before it was torn free, but this became his only feeling as the icy plunge took his sense of touch along with his sight. He heard the air scream past, though he couldn't summon the breath to scream. He could taste his own blood like tar in his throat and wished the torment would end.

  His prayer was answered. He hit unyielding rock, pain exploding as his bones shattered from the impact. When the icy air stole his pain, it was a relief.

  Only darkness, silence and the cold kiss of stone, sending him into oblivion.

  Wonderful. Now he was having flashbacks about his first fall from Heaven. Luce waited impatiently for the memory to fade enough for reality to return.

  In the absence of sound, the first thing he became aware of was scent. Coconut and lemon. No, mandarin and neroli. Jasmine, sandalwood, lavender and...myrrh. His lips lifted in a smile. Only Mel smelled like that.

  He opened his eyes dreamily, so he could see her as well as smell her, but he lay in darkness. The scent was so clear, though, as if she was right there with him. He lifted his nose, trying to work out where she was, and felt the touch of cotton on his face.

  Mel's ripped shirt.

  Luce jerked up, shivering on the cold, stone floor.

  Mel. Gone forever – by his hand.

  Pain exploded anew, worse than his first crash into Hell.

  He'd never see her again.

  Eighteen

  "I love you," she'd whispered, even as she'd died at his hands. What kind of tragedy ended with words of love for her murderer from his victim? Who would write such a fate for anyone?

  William Shakespeare. Othello.

  Luce wondered if there was a circle in Hell reserved for authors who killed their characters in stupid circumstances, as he'd killed Mel. Or maybe just the bitches who tortured their heroes, subjecting them to the sort of pain gnawing at his heart now. If there wasn't, he was going to create one, with boiling pools of ink...or pages that delivered countless paper cuts...or computers that only had dodgy touchscreens with terrible autocorrect...

  Mel was no Desdemona. She wouldn't have let him wallow in his misery or any other feeling. She'd have insisted on a shower, a change of clothes and some tea. Yes, he was damned, but he was the Lord of Hell. He'd damn well make sure the other damned souls regretted their crimes as much as he did his. Killing his beloved angel...

  He climbed laboriously to his feet. Balled up in his hand were the remains of her clothes. He buried his nose in the bloodstained shirt, wanting to catch a whiff of her perfume. Neroli, jasmine and myrrh. Oh God, Mel...

  He spread her clothes out on his desk. The pierced shirt. The white, lace-edged bra... that had holes in it, too. Only her knickers were intact. They were all he had of her – the last clothes she'd worn, stained with her lifeblood and marked with her scent. He'd treasure them until the world ended. He folded the underwear carefully inside the shirt and placed the whole bundle in his desk drawer. It wouldn't do to show his weakness to the lesser demons of his realm. What would she have wanted him to do if he lost her?

  She'd want him wearing a clean shirt. The one he wore to dinner with her in the office, the night she'd first kissed his cheek. He summoned the item with a thought, stripping out of his soiled clothes.

  Fresh shirt, then fresh pants, underwear and socks. Tie. Hair brushed, face washed and shaved. Teeth sparkling. He was dealing with demons and damned souls. None of them deserved to know about the hole in his heart, the place reserved for her.

  He turned the climate control thermostat down, hoping it would help him maintain his icy calm. Just the way Mel had in negotiations with anyone, angel or demon.

  I love you, too, Mel, he thought. Like no one else before or since. If the remainder of his existence was to be a living Hell, at least he'd be in the right place for it. No one else would notice the difference.

  Nineteen

  Mel felt her body slowly coalesce. No one had told her just how much it would hurt to be stabbed and then disintegrate. Raphael owed her big time for this; as did Michael. She couldn't recall ever being this furious, but she'd never heard of an angel offering false judgement before. They'd have Hell to pay on this one – and that was after she was done with them. Heaven wasn't happy with them, either.

  When she could feel her fingers moving, she dared to open her eyes. She took stock of her surroundings before moving from her crouch. "Where's Luce?" she asked. "More importantly, where are my clothes? Little brother, if you think hiding my clothes is funny..."

  Michael's metal-clad foot nudged the small pile of ash. "Well, this was your skirt. Why'd you tell him I used to dress up in your clothes when I was a kid? He'll think I'm..."

  "He doesn't know you're my little brother. I'm sure Luce didn't...where is he? I thought you said you'd wait for me to return before you opened the gates for him." She stretched as she stood up, feeling the flex of her muscles in her rebuilt body. "And where did he get that fork from?"

  "We think he summoned it from Hell. He can't have given up everything – he must still be the Lord of Hell. That makes him very dangerous," Peter piped up.

  Mel dismissed the danger. "He gave up everything he owned – all the power he
had – to Persephone. His dominion over Hell is a sacred trust – he can't give that up. It's part of who he is. I saw him use that power in my house and again when he brought that weapon here from Hell. Angel or demon, Luce is still the Lord of Hell – and, ultimately, the leader of every demon there is. I need to know where he is."

  Michael cleared his throat, turning his back on Mel. "He vanished, just after you did. We think he banished himself back to Hell permanently."

  Peter took the cloth from beneath his book and tossed it to Mel, who began wrapping it around herself like a sarong. As he set the book down again, a loose sheet of paper slipped out into the cloud at his feet.

  "Why?" she asked. "He passed your damn test, with your trumped-up charges on that little memo. I'm sure you're not allowed to add extra pages to the Book of Judgement. Your little unauthorised tribunal. I agreed not to reveal my identity until after you were done, but if I'd known what you were going to do with NO authority whatsoever, I'd never have permitted it. Oh, and if I ever see that sword again, it'll be too soon. I swear I'll have it welded into a city sewer main. Do you know how much that hurt? When I see Raphael, he's going to be in my debt for the next millennium, at least. And someone owes me new clothes and matching underwear. Tell me you at least let Luce know he was free to enter Heaven."

  "He disappeared before we could tell him," Michael whispered hoarsely.

  "Why didn't you follow him?" Mel demanded.

  "He's gone to Hell. We can't follow him there – can't even see him. He's masking himself from us, somehow," Michael replied, a little louder.

  "But not from me," Mel said softly. "He carries a part of me with him."

  Michael seemed to gain stature. "He has WHAT?" he exploded. "You sold your soul to Lucifer? What happens when he finds out who you are? What possessed you to do something so...so...STUPID?"

  Mel turned cold eyes on her brother, feeling all restraint slip away. Standing in her full glory, she saw reflected gold glitter in Michael's fearful eyes. Too little, too late for Luce. Her voice held more power than she intended as she said, "I sold nothing. I gave it freely, for it was my only hope of helping him. He already knows who I am. I thought I could send him home to Hell when his soul repulsed the spirit I breathed into him, but he welcomed me...with love. Our souls bonded and some small spark remains with him – I can sense it still." She reached out to the soul that was so closely connected to her own. "Screened by a thick cloud of darkness, and in the middle is despair. What did you tell him?" She couldn't hide the horror in her voice. She'd never sensed a soul in so much pain before. And a soul who didn't deserve it.

  Fear seemed to have stolen Michael's ability to speak. He knew she knew.

  "He really thought he'd killed you," Peter said.

  "So he condemned himself to Hell? You realise I'm going to have to go in there after him," Mel stated. She struggled with the thick fabric, which wouldn't quite meet. There simply wasn't enough of it.

  "You don't have to," Michael ventured. "You could just leave him to his fate. He is the ruler of Hell, after all. He does sort of belong there."

  Mel shook her head slowly. "You don't get it, do you? We can't bond with demons or the fallen without falling ourselves, and I am as I ever was. Instead, he changed – for me. He's an angel – the same as us. He doesn't belong there any more than we do. Makes me wonder how many others are there who don't need to be. He's there because of me and I won't let him suffer any more. Enough is enough."

  "But, Mel, no angel who's ever made it out of there has remained, well, an angel," Michael hedged. "Most never leave. Don't go – it's too great a risk, to lose you for a demon you think might have changed." Far from a command, he sounded like he was begging. "Please, Mel..."

  "Are you volunteering to go in my place?" Mel asked. "Someone has to set this right."

  Michael shook his head violently. "Please. I only did it to protect you. I couldn't...I wouldn't...and he'd never listen to me. Let alone forgive..."

  "Nothing can justify what you did to him. If my fate is to enter Hell, then I will follow it. And let you live with the knowledge that it's your fault. You won't stop me, Michael."

  He dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand, his eyes entreating. "Mel, don't. No angel can survive Hell without being tainted. Just look at him..."

  "Show me." Mel looked at Michael's face and deeper, too – to the very depths of his soul. She saw an angel forcing another to fall into Hell...for her. Somehow, that angel had emerged as the demon she'd met on the day of her interview. She snapped, "You're suggesting I should leave a redeemed man in Hell because it's too hard and you're too scared to do it yourself? After what you did to him? There's a reason you're standing guard on the gate, little brother, while I've been guiding the governments of the world for centuries. No one else has ever redeemed a demon – until me. You three just sent an innocent man to Hell without a word of protest. And I know this isn't the first time." Mel stared at Demeter and the two men until they found the cloud beneath their feet fascinating. "Michael and Peter, you agree that he passed your test – and you won't cause any further trouble to prevent him from entering Heaven?"

  Both men nodded.

  "Yes, Lady Muriel," Peter managed to say, backed up by Michael's scared silence.

  "Demeter, he never touched Persi, though she offered herself to him. I watched over her myself – I was worried about the outcome, too, yet events spun out as he said." Mel kept her gaze on Persephone's mother.

  Demeter bowed her head. "I believe you, Lady Muriel. Persi never said what he'd done – simply that he left her naked and hurt in his home. I didn't realise all he hurt was her pride. You do understand why I had to see for myself, if he really could be redeemed, as you say." She swallowed. "I'm sorry I burned your shirt. I wish you luck. A redeemed demon...gives us hope of redemption for the others."

  Mel took a deep breath and released it, feeling the strength in her newly formed body. She'd need it in Hell. "I'll see you all on my return and Heaven won't help you if you stand in my way again. From HELL Corporation to the Pit itself. Now, more than ever, it's time for me to go to Hell."

  With barely a gold shimmer in the air, she was gone. The tiny tablecloth fluttered in the firmament, buoyed by the breeze of her passage.

  "What do we do now?" Peter asked Michael.

  "Pray," Michael replied. "I'd prefer to let a hundred demons into Heaven with my blessing than agree to let Mel go to Hell."

  "Why did you let her go, then?" Peter persisted.

  Michael's laughter was hollow. "Nothing can stop Lady Muriel from fulfilling her destiny. Not you, not me, not Raphael. Not even all the forces of Heaven combined."

  "What about the forces of Hell?"

  Michael closed his eyes in defeat. "We're about to find out, aren't we?"

  Twenty

  Much like Luce's inability to enter Heaven without passing through the gates, Mel knew she couldn't translocate herself directly into Hell. There were protocols to be observed. Instead, she placed herself in the desert sand a short distance from the entrance, in full view of the cave mouth. She'd expected a fiery portal, like the stories said, but she'd take this cold, rocky alternative if it meant she wouldn't singe her wing feathers on the way in. She did have to keep up appearances, after all.

  She reached out once more for Luce, sensing his despairing soul amid a collective moan of so many others. So much pain, concentrated in one place. That was Hell. She couldn't understand how any angel could want to stay here. She could feel tears forming in her eyes already and she wasn't even inside.

  She passed between jagged rocks, wondering how many souls it would take to wear them smooth. She knew it was a matter of perspective – she saw Hell this way, while others saw the inferno, their worst nightmares, or, in Luce's case, perhaps a friendly welcome mat. No, surely not even he saw that.

  The imps had told her that Hell was as much a place of perception as Heaven – perhaps this place had inspired post-modernist thinkers to
formulate their theories on perspectives and reality. She smothered laughter as she stepped into the darkness, letting her body glow just a little so she could see clearly. If she'd known the fires of Hell would be extinguished for her visit, she'd have brought a torch.

  Now it was only a matter of time before her natural radiance brought her to the attention of some of Hell's darker denizens; demons and souls who had inhabited the place for so long that they were unrecognisable for the angels and humans they once were. She shrugged. The one she searched for was the oldest, darkest and most powerful of them all – and he loved her. Nothing else mattered but finding Luce.

  Mel shivered as a cold breeze caught her. She looked down and realised she'd lost the tiny tablecloth somewhere along the way.

  A naked angel, taking on all the forces of Hell to claim their leader. Oh, someone up there sure had a sense of humour. So be it. No one could say she'd chosen the easy way, she mused, chuckling quietly. Her laughter seemed an odd sound in this dark place, but no less unusual than her own, glowing self.

  "I'm coming for you, Luce," she said, her words ringing out in the darkness. "I've redeemed you once and nothing will stop me from doing the same again. I know your soul."

  Only silence greeted her statement, until she swore as she smacked her foot on a rock.

  Limping slightly, she strode on. Luce's soul was worth more than a simple stubbed toe.

  Twenty-One

  The words were carved deep into the stone: All hope abandon ye who enter here. Mel half expected despair to settle on her like a heavy blanket, but her hopes were higher than ever. Luce was near – she could feel his presence. She had to hope, for not doing so would be to lose Luce to despair and a fate he didn't deserve – something she couldn't do. He'd asked for her help, even if it had taken him millennia to do so.