by Elise Marion
“Welcome to Harley’s den,” he said before pushing them open.
The doors swung inward, revealing a large auditorium which had once been full of chairs bolted to the floor. Most of them had been removed, leaving only a few rows up front and clearing a large space. Tables and chairs littered the open area, while a pool table sat in one corner, surrounded by people holding cues.
Micah noticed people sitting, lounging with their feet propped up, and many standing. Their voices were raised to be heard over the pounding Hip-Hop music blaring from a set of large speakers situated around the room. Echoing voices drew Micah’s glance overhead, where balconies brimmed with more bodies, a few of them even sitting on the edge of the railing, feet dangling over the sides.
Stacks of crates littered the room here and there, a few acting as resting places for old, heavy television sets with wires that snaked toward the outlets in the walls. Surprisingly, the old sets worked, each playing a different television show or movie for the groups gathered around them. For the life of him, Micah couldn’t understand how they could hear over the music, but their attentions seemed held by whatever they were watching.
Glancing up toward the stage, he noticed a large group gathered, backs facing them. They shouted among themselves, jostling for position as if vying to see whatever was happening in their midst.
Drew motioned for them to follow, so they did. Jack first, then Micah bringing up the rear as they walked down one of the narrow aisles leading to the stage. Curious gazes penetrated them from all sides, not one of the Naphils present bothering to disguise their suspicion and curiosity.
Studying them all through his peripherals, Micah marveled at the sheer number of them. There had to be at least two hundred people in this room alone; no telling how many more could be hidden away throughout the building. Spanning every ethnicity imaginable, they ranged in age from elderly to very young—some even young enough to still wear diapers. He fought not to stare at the woman holding a baby to her breast to feed him, wondering if she were one of Eligos’ children, or if she’d just been unfortunate to get knocked up by him.
Reaching the stage, they followed Drew up the stairs to where the crowd jeered and bellowed at whatever was at their center. Craning his neck, he fought to see past the sea of bodies pushing and shoving for a spot in the crowd. Circling them a bit, he found an opening and peered through it, eyebrows wrinkling at what he found.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, voice raised to be heard over the din.
Shouldering someone aside, he made room for Jack and Drew. The Naphil he’d nudged gave him a withering glare, but backed off after sizing him up. That tended to happen when you were built like the side of a cliff.
The other two slid into the space he’d created, taking in the scene before them with the same curiosity as Micah. A man and woman circled each other in the ring, barefoot and stripped to almost nothing. The woman wore a sports bra and shorts, while the man went bare chested. Both sported wrapped knuckles. Slender and tall, with sinewy muscles coated in a sheen of sweat, the woman looked to be in her early to mid-twenties, her head shaved on one side to reveal a black tribal tattoo etched from her temple and down behind her ear to the back of her neck. The rest of her pitch-black hair had been knotted on top of her head.
Her opponent—a man twice her size—attempted to make a grab for the topknot, but she ducked before ramming a shoulder into his middle. They grappled for a moment, each trying to gain the upper hand, feet shuffling for position as both attempted to take the other down. The male broke loose of her hold, then lunged, wrapping both arms around her knees and buckling her. Her back struck the floor with a resounding tremor that shook the entire stage. Yet, she didn’t so much as whimper as he came down on top of her. He took two swift jabs to the face before he was able to completely immobilize her.
Taking advantage of his stunned state, she wrapped both legs around his waist, then her arms around his neck. Grunting and growling like an enraged bull, her opponent tried to free himself, but his movements only rendered him more helpless as she worked one leg up over his shoulder, closing his head into a triangle choke. From where he stood, Micah noticed the guy’s face turning redder and redder as he attempted to break free. Teeth gritted, she raised her hips from the ground and gave his arm a vicious yank, causing him to cry out. Beside him, Jack winced at the sight of the man’s arm nearly being pulled from the socket.
“Finn, tap out, you stupid ape,” she grunted between ragged breaths, applying even more pressure on his head with her legs. “I’ll tear your arm off—I swear to God!”
“Fuck … you,” the man managed through his constricted windpipe.
“Break it, Harley!” jeered a man from Micah’s left. “Snap that arm like a twig.”
“Break the asshole’s neck!” someone else offered from the back of the crowd.
“What a warm bunch,” Micah muttered under his breath.
So, this woman embarrassing the hell out of Finn must be Harley. Micah found himself duly impressed.
“Last chance, Finn,” she warned. “Apologize or tap out.”
The red-faced fool with no chance of getting out of Harley’s trap didn’t respond—merely went on squirming like a fish on a hook, sputtering and growling like a dog with rabies.
“Suit yourself,” she muttered before raising her hips even more, until only her head and shoulders remained on the ground. With another swift tug, Harley grinned with satisfaction as the sound of a crunch, and Finn’s bloodcurdling screams, filled the air.
The pitiful howls became smothered by the roar of voices, every single one of them cheering Harley on as she released her beaten opponent and rolled to her knees before rising to her feet. Micah spotted a bruise forming against her ribs. It would be ugly in the morning, but Harley didn’t seem to care.
Grinning, she strode toward Finn, who struggled to rise to his feet, his shoulder now twisted at an unnatural angle. Reaching out, she gripped the injured limb, giving it another jerk, until Finn went down to his knees, biting back another scream. Micah could have sworn he spotted tears in the guy’s eyes. Poor, stupid bastard.
“Look at me, you pitiful sack of shit,” Harley growled, grasping a handful of his hair and forcing him to meet her gaze. “You put your hands on a girl in my house without permission again, I will end you. Got it?”
“Yeah, you got it,” he muttered, so low Micah could barely hear him.
“Got what?” she demanded. “The right to demand the men in my house to respect the women? Is that what I got?”
Finn tried to nod, but couldn’t move much with her hand maintaining a death grip on his hair.
“And what about Becky?” she continued, pointing with her free hand to a petite blonde girl standing on the edge of the crowd. “Does she have the right to walk past your Neanderthal ass without expecting you to grope her like a goddamn caveman?”
He nodded again, but gasped when Harley gave his hair another yank.
“Speak!” she demanded like she would of a dog.
“Yes!” he spat, eyeing her with a narrow glare.
Throwing him away from her, Harley sneered at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Then go apologize like a big boy and then get the hell out of my sight. I don’t want to see you again for at least a week … so, wherever me and Becky are, you better not fucking be.”
Finally managing to stand, he limped toward Becky, his injured arm clutched against his chest. He murmured an apology, before slinking off and disappearing toward the backstage area. A few others trailed behind him, likely to offer assistance for the injured arm.
“Let that be a lesson to the rest of you,” Harley said, voice raised loud enough to be heard over the music. “We might only be half human, but if you’re going to live in my den, you’re going to act like you have some damn sense.”
A few words of agreement rippled through the crowd, quickly dying away as Harley turned her head and noticed them standing nearby. Her gaze
skimmed him and Jack before landing on Drew.
“You better have a good reason for bringing Guardians into my den, kid,” she said, accepting a freshly opened bottle of beer from someone before approaching them.
She eyed Jack, then him over the bottle as she lifted it to take a long pull. Micah met her stare, making sure she knew he was no Finn. Girl or not, he wouldn’t take an ounce of shit from her.
“You got something against Guardians?” Jack asked, annoyance edging his voice.
Micah couldn’t blame him. Naphils disconnected from any cause often caused as much trouble as demons. The ones pledged to Hell were some of the worst creatures roaming the Earth. If anyone should be suspicious of anyone here, it should have been the other way around.
“Just give us five minutes,” Drew said. “They’re here to help.”
Harley inclined her head. “Follow me.”
Micah exchanged a glance with Drew, who shrugged before obediently falling in line behind her. He and Jack followed, the crowd parting to admit them. The girl named Becky approached, looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes, before glancing back at Harley.
“Thanks, Harley,” she said in a low, timid voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” she insisted. “I’m headed to the back. Let everyone know I don’t want to be bothered. Okay?”
Becky nodded and gave a timid smile. “Yeah, okay. Sure thing.”
Patting the girl’s shoulder, Harley continued on, tipping her beer bottle up for another swig as they approached a set of doors off the backstage area. She opened one, ushering them into what might have once been a dressing room. A mattress rested in the corner, the covers mussed, while a rusty clothing rack held a slim selection of clothes. A long mirror with mostly blown-out lightbulbs surrounding it was filthy, barely holding their reflection in its smudged surface.
Setting her beer aside on the counter jutting out beneath the mirror, she leaned back against it and stared at them with pursed lips.
“If it weren’t for Drew, I’d have thrown you out on your asses the minute you walked in,” she stated. “But I like the kid, so I’ll hear you out. What do you want?”
“Not to allow Eligos to rule Hell, for one,” Jack said. “If you’re of a similar mind, we can be of use to each other.”
Snorting, Harley rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that nice? The prestigious Guardians slumming it with us outcasts. Now you want to hold hands and be friends?”
“Who the hell spit in your grits, gal?” Micah grumbled.
“Your kind, from the moment I realized what I was,” she retorted. “You Guardians really are something else, you know that? Turning your noses up at us, judging us … all because of the parents you were born to. You get your abilities handed to you like a bunch of privileged little pansies, while my people have had to fight for every inch of space we find in this world.”
“You don’t know shit about us,” Jack snapped. “Nothing about what we’ve sacrificed, gained, lost, or fought for.”
“And you don’t know what it’s like to be born in darkness,” Harley retorted. “And having a bunch of snobby Guardians calling you a demon because of who your parents are.”
Micah couldn’t help thinking of Addison, and the guilt he’d experienced after realizing he had been blaming every Naphil on the planet for his sister’s brutal murder. He’d treated Addison like crap on first sight because of it, and she’d proven over time that she was deserving of none of it.
“Look, I get it,” he said. “Guardians ain’t perfect, and we have a habit of lookin’ at the world in black and white … it’s hard to see the difference between Naphils born of demons from actual demons. But none of that matters right now. We can go back to dislikin’ each other later, but right now, Eligos is making a play for Hell, and we can’t let that happen.”
“That’s true,” she relented with a shrug. “So, you came here to offer me an alliance. Is that it?”
“We’re hoping to recruit as many Nephilim as possible,” Jack said. “Your den is our first stop, but we’ve heard you have quite a loyal following. We could use you in bringing others in.”
“The people who have lived in this den—whether they’re still here or not—are loyal to me, because I give them a place to live without condition. A place to be themselves and free. No one here has to do anything they don’t want, and I don’t allow any of that illegal shit around here. More than half of us make money where we can, and everyone contributes.”
“It’s true,” Drew chimed in. “This is one of the few Naphil dens around that doesn’t allow drugs or stolen property within its walls.”
“What about the sound system and the TVs?” Micah asked.
“Some of our residents are dumpster divers,” Harley replied. “You’d be surprised what people throw away. Now that I’ve satisfied your curiosity, it’s time for you to do something for me.”
Jack scowled. “What kind of ‘something’?”
“Don’t make that face at me,” she retorted. “You’re walking in here and asking me to put my people on the line to fight with you. They trust me, and I take that seriously. I’m not putting our lives into your hands until you’ve proven yourselves to me.”
Moving away from the counter, she walked across the room, pushing her garment rack aside to reveal another door. She swung it open and motioned toward the dark room on the other side. A low sound emitted from within—an animalistic growl. It sent a chill down Micah’s spine as the odor of sulfur drifted out toward him.
Stepping into the room, Harley reached up and flipped a light switch. A dull yellow bulb flickered on overhead, casting its meager glow against concrete walls and floor. From a shadowed corner of the room, something crawled toward them so swiftly, Micah barely had time to react before it was on him.
Staggering backward, he unsheathed both his knives, escaping just before the thing could grab him. It snarled and snapped its teeth, jerking against a set of chains keeping it against the wall. Pulling at the shackles, it caused the wall to shudder with the force of its strength—yet, the chains remained intact.
“Holy hell,” he whispered, watching as the thing dropped to all fours and continued growling and snarling, splatters of drool dripping from its mouth to the floor.
It was a man, he realized—wearing nothing but a pair of tattered jeans, his body streaked in an ash-like substance. The whites of his eyes glowed red, while dark, black veins stained his neck and face.
From the looks of things, he’d been demon-possessed for weeks—possibly months.
“You want my help?” Harley challenged, coming around to face them and pointing at the man fighting his bonds. “Fix this.”
Meeting Jack’s gaze, he grimaced, mirroring his partner’s anxiety over this development. Nodding in encouragement, for himself as much as for Jack, he took a deep breath.
“Make the call,” he murmured.
Reaching into his pocket, Jack retrieved his cell phone and quickly dialed. Holding the phone to his ear, he turned to watch as the tortured man fought against his chains.
“Reniel,” Jack said a moment later. “We need you to meet us at the old Israel Meyer Augustine school … yes, the one that got flooded out …”
Trailing off, he grew silent—undoubtedly so the angel could ask what was going on. His voice was grave when he spoke again.
“We need to perform an exorcism.”
Chapter Eight: The Arena
She was falling this time, descending a dark tunnel at breakneck speed. Whatever awaited her at the bottom, getting there was going to hurt. On either side of her, hot air rushed upward, while her senses told her that the rock walls still boxed her in tight.
Addison couldn’t be certain how long or far she fell, but eventually, the tunnel opened beneath her into a gigantic cavern. The clamor of voices filled her ears in a dull roar as she landed on her feet, bending her knees and crouching low to keep her balance. Glancing up, she found herself surrounded by
demons.
Seated on stone benches carved into the cavern’s sides like stadium seating, they roared and cheered, red eyes boring into her with equal degrees of lust, disdain, curiosity, and excitement. Varying in size, they ran the gamut from strange-looking to downright-hideous—bat-like wings, armored scales, reptilian tongues flicking between jagged teeth.
Torches bearing flickering flames coated the walls, while iron candelabras holding lit candles added to the light. The stone circle of the floor remained empty except for her—making her feel as if she was on display.
Turning in a slow circle, she took the scene in, wondering what this final test would entail. Craning her neck upward, she found a stone balcony jutting out from the wall, holding a series of eight thrones—one of which loomed much larger than the other. In that big chair sat Lucifer, still dressed in white and holding his gleaming scepter. Flanking him on either side were seven beings Addison knew must be the seven Princes of Hell. She recognized Mammon in his demon form—red skin etched in demonic tattoos, gold rings piercing his ears, pig-like nostrils, and nipples, along with a fist-sized diamond wedged into his navel. The sight of his large, curving horns caused her to shudder as she relived watching Jack become impaled by one of them.
Beside him, Astaroth glared at her with glowing, red eyes—looking very much like he wanted to rip her limb from limb. Addison couldn’t blame him. She’d dispatched his ass back to Hell and closed his portal—after she’d done the same to Mammon and Nybbas.
The other five, she did not recognize, but supposed she would soon come to know them; they were each responsible for one of Eligos’ ten unauthorized portals from Hell into the human realm. At some point, she would face them all.
“The main attraction has arrived,” Mammon boomed from where he sat, reaching up to stroke his chin with one beefy hand. “Shall we begin the games?”
“First, the rules,” Lucifer replied in his soft voice, staring down at her with dead, black eyes. “Addison Monroe, you were brought here to face four tests. You have passed the first three with flying colors. This final trial will pit your strength against Lilith and those who follow her. If you can get to her, you are free to do with her as you will.”