“It’s not puny,” I mumble, trying not think about where our steps are taking us.
“No need to look so down,” Urim says, his arm still around my waist, more to prevent me from running away than to help me walk, “this isn’t your funeral we’re going to.”
“Could be,” Thummim says.
“In which case your troubles will truly be over!”
We duck under a low portico, and I stop short. Instead of being surrounded by more windowless, grimy walls, I find myself staring at an inner courtyard. Crates and boxes have been piled high in one corner, facing a cordoned off area where someone’s hung some dirty laundry.
I jump as the sharp sound of a lash hitting flesh cracks wetly from behind them, spraying the garments with blood. And again. Relentlessly.
“No need to worry ‘bout it, princess,” Urim says darkly, prodding me to start walking again, “it’s just a penitent.”
Dry-mouthed, I force myself to get moving again. But as we pass by the screened-off area, I find my eyes irretrievably drawn to the hole left between two torn sheets, and the ugly spectacle unfolding behind them.
The demon is kneeling on the hard-packed earth, head bowed, his back already an open wound. Yet still he keeps swinging that cat o’ nine tails around, its thick, knotted lashes cutting an ever-bloodier cross between his shoulders and hips.
There’s a low hiss from above, and I look up in time to see a shadow slither its way down from the nearest roof onto the top of the stack of crates. I stiffen.
“Though we aren’t its target, nor that of the others,” Urim says, sounding rather disappointed, “it’s probably best for you if we don’t tarry.”
A chill creeps down my neck. “You mean we’re just going to let them kill him while he’s…you know…busy?”
Thummim suddenly yanks on my arm as something brushes past me. I look over my shoulder as three demons rip down the line of dirty clothes and converge upon the penitent, sharp teeth snapping.
But at the very last second, the kneeling demon turns around, giant mouth gaping open hungrily. It latches onto the closest assailant’s outstretched arm, ripping it apart with a loud crunch. Then, still sucking on the severed limb, it strikes the second demon, clawed hand going all the way through the other creature’s sternum.
“You were saying?” Urim asks, voice dripping with sarcasm as he leads me down a side passage.
Someone sniggers from behind a shuttered window up ahead. “Has Lucifer decided to join our ranks once again?” a voice grates out.
“Crawl back into your hole, slug,” Urim barks, keeping me tight against him now.
I try to pierce the darkness behind the shutters’ slats as we hurry past, and the ghoulish laugh resounds again.
“Not Lucifer, I see,” the voice hisses. “But the resemblance is uncanny, wouldn’t you say, Thummim?”
“I think you need to have your eyeballs straightened,” the Dark Sidhe replies. “I’ll be more than glad to help you with that.”
His grin flashes lightning bright as he suddenly doubles back and jumps up. Urim’s long-fingered hand forces me to duck as Thummim rips the window’s wooden planks out in a hail of shards and nails.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mordred asks as Urim shoves me out of the alley and into the street beyond.
“Thummim’s restocking,” Urim says, shifting from one foot to the next impatiently.
Mordred’s scowl deepens. “And I suppose you want to join him?”
“Well, it all depends on how well you think your interview with Carman’s going to go."
“One minute,” Mordred says, managing to both sound resigned and pissed off at the same time.
He doesn’t have to repeat himself. Urim’s already launched himself back into the dark alley, his excited shouts joining those of the others, leaving Mordred and me alone.
“Please don’t take me to her,” I beg, turning to my brother, hoping to bring him back to my side of things. “You don’t know what she’s like.”
A muscle twitches in Mordred’s cheek. “I know plenty more than you do.”
“But she’s using me to make her stronger! At this rate,…” I swallow convulsively, fear sapping away the rest of my words. “Please don’t do this to me. Please.”
A loud boom saves him from having to answer me, shaking the nearest buildings to their foundations. I cling to Mordred to avoid toppling over, as a large cloud of dust and debris billows out of the narrow alley, turning everything white.
“Stand back,” Mordred growls.
He raises his hand, and black sparks tear through the dusty air towards a dark figure barreling our way. The blast hits the fleeing demon square in the chest, and I watch the shadow stagger, as if dazed. Then two more shadows appear behind it.
“Where you going to so soon?” Thummim’s voice calls out.
The first shape whirls around to face the two Dark Sidhe.
“Thought we were having fun,” Thummim continues.
“Bite me!”
The defiant shout makes me jump, and Thummim’s low laugh rises in the dusty air. “How tempting,” the Dark Sidhe replies.
Then he leaps forward, toppling the self-flagellating demon to the ground. The creature hits the ground with a surprised snarl, but Thummim pins it down with his own body before it can retaliate.
“Now, where were we?” Thummim asks cordially.
“I hope you choke on it,” the self-flagellating demon spits.
Thummim’s face breaks into a cruel smile. “Let’s see if I will, shall we?”
He slams his hand down onto the creature’s face. The demon’s head explodes with a dull pop, spraying bits of flesh and bone across the street, ichor black against the thick layer of dust.
Then, like a mad doctor, Thummim pries the demon’s chest open, the ribs cracking sharply under his bare hands. My stomach heaves. This is exactly like what happened to the guard.
I watch helplessly as Thummim plunges his hand up to his elbow into the demon’s chest cavity. This isn’t right. Fallen angel or not, nobody deserves this never-ending cycle of painful death and rebirth, of having to eat or be eaten, without the slightest hope for deliverance.
“Why are you letting them do that?” I ask, as Thummim finally pulls away from the demon’s remains, a dull brown ogham held between his bloody fingers.
Mordred shrugs. “We’ve all got to survive, and that means feeding ourselves too.”
“Feeding? But you guys aren’t stuck here, you can find food up in the normal world.”
I watch with growing horror as a hole opens in the side of Thummim’s neck so he can push the ogham into it. His eyes flutter closed, an addict who’s just gotten his fix.
A chill steals over me as I finally understand what Urim meant by restocking.
“Please don’t tell me—”
“Time to move,” Mordred growls, his hand like a vice around my arm.
“But—”
“Yes, it’s how we get our powers,” he says, clearly annoyed. “Not everyone wants to mooch off some Danu or other Fey Lordling to stay alive, cow-towing to their every whim, like a bunch of puppets. That’s not what we fought for.”
“Oh, because destroying each other to steal one’s essence is so much better,” I retort.
“Seems to me the lady doth protest too much,” Urim says, and I find myself staring at his neck to see if I can still spot the hole through which he must have absorbed other stolen oghams. “Does the fact that we took down a few demons really bother you that much? You know they’d have done the same to you and your friends once through the Gates.”
“It’s no more than what the bastard did to the others,” Thummim says, cracking his neck, his pupils so dilated I can’t even see his irises anymore.
Urim nods emphatically. “Everyone down here is getting ready for the great outdoors, building up reserves. Can’t you feel the excitement in the air?”
“More like humidity,” Thummim says
with a light giggle.
I freeze as a fat drop falls on Mordred’s cheek, red against his blue woads.
“No,” I whisper, as we all look up to stare at Carman’s rapidly approaching form.
“Guess you’ll be getting your meeting earlier than anticipated,” Thummim says.
Urim grimaces. “And it looks like she’s pissed off again,” he says.
“Thanks to you boys,” Mordred grumbles, making Thummim laugh even harder.
My whole body’s telling me to flee, but I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even think. I feel Mordred draw closer to me, and despite it all, I’m grateful for his presence. Maybe things will be different with him at my side. Maybe Carman will leave me be this time around.
“Please tell me this isn’t an act of rebellion on your part, Mordred,” Carman says, eyeing the damage the two Dark Sidhes have wrought upon the neighborhood. The line of low buildings we cut through is now but a gaping hole in the middle of the demon city. “I don’t think I could bear the disappointment.”
My heart stops as she turns her cold gaze to us, her black dress fluttering around her like hundreds of crows’ wings.
“We were actually on our way to see you,” I say without thinking.
Mordred doesn’t bat a lash, but I can feel the shock of my taking his defense go through his body.
Carman narrows her eyes. “Pray tell, then, why my property decided to gambol about instead of staying safely stored away where I put it.”
“Considering the rarity of the commodity,” Mordred says at last, “I thought it wise not to keep her out in the open for anyone to damage further.”
The slap resounds like a gunshot. I gasp at the sight of the deep gouges cutting across Mordred’s face, but my brother doesn’t budge.
“I am not keeping you around to think, boy,” Carman seethes, “and certainly not to question my judgment. Besides”—she lowers her eyelids as her gaze slides over to me—“don’t let her looks deceive you. She is strong, and gifted. More so than you.”
“But her strength is waning,” Mordred says, “and fast. I do not presume to know your thoughts, but should you wish to preserve your property a little longer, there are other ways.”
“What ways might those be?”
“Instead of trying to restore the five generals to their full power, setting up a geas, like the one at Lake High, might prove more useful.”
“A blood oath?” Carman asks.
Mordred nods. “We have seen Mu upstairs,” he says. “But something went awry when he tried to use his powers again.”
“Penemue rebelled against me,” Carman states.
“Not exactly,” Mordred says.
“Rather the opposite, actually,” Thummim interjects. “Took your orders to the letter, and it backfired.”
“It wasn’t pretty,” Urim says with a barely-repressed shudder.
“And you’re saying the geas is meant to fix that?” Carman asks.
“As well as give you an additional benefit,” Mordred says. “This being their blood bonding to yours, their loyalty shall never be questioned.”
“Unlike yours, you mean,” Carman says cooly.
Mordred pales slightly beneath his tattoos. “And by linking them to you through it, they wouldn’t need to have their full strength restored through the use of the Sangraal to leave this place.”
“Thereby preserving the life of your dear sister,” Carman says slowly. “My, my, you certainly have gone to great lengths to protect her.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Enough. I know exactly what you meant. Now run along, and get back to manning the Gates before they close up on you.”
For the briefest moment, it looks like Mordred’s going to object, but then he lowers his head in submission. “As you wish.”
“Mordred…,” I say, voice tight with fear.
But my brother keeps his head resolutely down.
Carman’s cheek dimples. “The eagerness you’ve shown in coming to me this time is certainly appreciated, Morgan. Come, we have much to do still.” She grabs my arm, and pulls me to her. “Gadreel will be most pleased.”
“One! I choose option one!” I say, looking at Mordred in panic, willing him to interpose himself again.
But whatever spark of independence I saw in him before must have been an illusion. Mordred doesn’t move an inch as Carman takes off, carrying me with her.
My stomach lurches as we bank above the endless roofs towards the star-shaped city center. Unlike the squalid streets we’ve just left behind, the plaza is teeming with demons pressing themselves eagerly around the wide scaffolding that dominates its grounds.
When I was here earlier, they were hanging children, betting on who’d kick the longest before dying at last. This time, the crowd’s got its hands on a woman, and have her strung tightly over a large wheel. The horde lets out another wave of excited shouts as the executioner brings its spiked mace down over her left calf, tearing a pitiful cry from its current victim.
I grind my teeth together. This is what Carman wants to turn the world into—an abhorrent place where torturing one another for pleasure is commonplace, where nothing is held sacred anymore, and the best one can hope for is true death.
Another blood-curdling cry cuts through the mob’s loud jeers.
I can’t let Carman do this. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’m taking her down.
Now.
I twist around in Carman’s hold and lash out with all the energy I have left. Fire blooms from my fingertips, the dark blue flames quickly burning through Carman’s collar. Her grasp on me momentarily loosens, and my fingers finally close around her neck. I squeeze, as hard as I can, crushing her trachea.
I’m dimly aware of someone’s shout of alarm far below as we plummet to the ground.
But before we can crash into the crowd, two dark tentacles punch through both my shoulders. I let out a strangled gasp as my numb fingers are torn away from her, arms falling useless to my sides. And just like that, my one chance to get her is gone.
Carman’s hand grazes her long neck, the imprint of my fingers prominent above some strange Celtic symbol that seems to have been branded into her clavicle.
“This is going to cost you,” she says.
And, looking into her flinty eyes, I know that my own death isn’t going to come soon enough.
Chapter 11
I stopped believing in fairy tales and knights in shining armor long before I ever set foot in Lake High, but I never thought I’d wish for one to actually save me.
After what seems like a lifetime, my feet come to a stop before a set of gigantic black doors, two torches ensconced at their sides the only source of light in the dark tunnel. A flurry of shouts comes from the other side, and I take in a deep, shuddering breath, the freezing air burning down my lungs.
Without a word, Carman flicks her hand and the doors swing silently inward to reveal a wide, cavernous chamber filled to bursting with demons.
The throne room.
A loud wail rends the air before we even step inside, reverberating against the walls, driving the crowd into a frenzy of growls and hisses.
As above, so below. Cruelty knows no bounds. I will myself to remain impassive despite the spectacle, wondering what poor soul’s been picked to entertain this hysterical mass.
No one has noticed our arrival, all gazes riveted to the raised dais on the opposite side of the room where a man can be seen strutting back and forth. Then his hand shoots up and the terrible screaming starts again. The beautiful demon smiles, reveling in the crowd’s cheers, and my heart lurches as I recognize Gadreel. The very one whose full strength Carman is going to make me restore, as if Gad isn’t bad enough already.
I repress a shiver as the temperature drops even further, and have a brief moment to register Carman’s irate look before she sweeps inside the throne room. The nearest demons don’t even get a chance to move out of her way before she pushes past them, turning
their flesh to ice. Then someone shoves me in after her, and slams the doors shut behind me.
All my senses screaming for me to run away, I make myself follow in Carman’s wake, bare feet sliding over the icy floor. It’s pointless to try to run away. I know, I’ve tried twice already. And Carman’s pissed off enough as it is, without me adding oil to the fire. Not if I want to survive this session.
“Aren’t we being assiduous today?” Carman croons.
Gad whirls around, face pale, as an uneasy silence settles over the rest of the crowd. All eyes are upon Carman as she slowly ascends the dais, feathered dress fluttering around her. But as I reach the platform behind her, my eyes fall on the poor creature squirming at the throne’s foot.
“Banshee!” I exclaim, momentarily forgetting about everything else.
The grey cloak shifts at the sound of my voice, and I scramble to her side. The banshee tries to lift her head in greeting, wincing at some unseen injury.
“Shhh, it’s OK,” I tell her. “Don’t move.”
I let out a string of curses, power crackling over my fists. I don’t care what Carman will do to me, but I won’t let her use me to help Gad. No. I’m going to make him pay instead. But before I can strike the demon down, a cold wind sweeps across me, freezing my hand midway.
My lips thin out in a low growl as I struggle against Carman’s control, but all I can do is watch as the witch slowly lowers herself onto the throne. The intricate chair is an exact replica of the Siege Perilous, except that the angels and demons on this one are still as stone.
“I thought you somewhat more duplicitous in your aim to usurp my throne,” Carman continues, long white fingers caressing the carvings on her throne’s armrest. “Yet here you are, doling out your own justice on one of my subjects.”
Gadreel blanches visibly. “This one here isn’t one of your subjects, she’s a—”
“Every single soul in Hell belongs to me!” Carman says, scathingly. “Yes, even yours. And you’ve only got your own failures to blame for it.”
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