There are about a million messages waiting for me. Josie was bored in her theology lecture, Lucas thinks the guy playing Doctor Faustus is hot, they both think my lack of response to their messages means I’ve died, and Josie is heading to Apocalypse for some kind of interview for the bartender job.
I finally reach the part about their current whereabouts: Lucas has ditched us for lunch in favor of grabbing a hot dog with the guy playing Faustus, and Josie’s at an impromptu Wicca meeting due to one of the girls sensing bad energy on campus yesterday. I always thought that spiritual-type stuff was a load of bullshit, but there definitely has been bad energy on campus, and his name is Crow.
I let them know I’m not dead (Just potentially bound to Hell!) and trudge toward a bus stop down the street, which has been graffitied with devil horns and halos. Apparently, there’s an hourly bus.
I’m just settling onto the edge of the metal bench when a beeping horn makes me flinch. Crow’s black Mini Cooper is coming down the road. I smile and wave as it slows. Maybe Crow isn’t such an asshole after all.
But just as I walk toward the curb, he speeds up again, hurtling out of sight.
Anger surges through my body.
“Dick!” I growl, but I don’t have long to seethe.
A slender figure stands across the road, face hidden in shadow. When he steps into the light, the sun turns his red hair almost golden.
Gabriel.
It’s clear he wants to speak to me, but, hell, I’ve had enough. When the bus rolls up with a gasp of hot, smelly air, I get ready to make my escape. As I’m about to step aboard, however, a hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me back to the sidewalk.
Gabriel. How on earth could he have crossed the road so quickly?
“Can I help you?” I sputter, still in shock.
“We can’t be seen. We don’t have much time.”
He spins on his heel just as the bus doors close again.
“Come. I want to show you something.”
Chapter Twelve
I watch Gabriel as he speeds across the wide street toward Halo Corp., fists clenched and gaze swinging from side to side as though he’s about to be ambushed. Then I blow out hot air. While I suppose I could go and get a Coke or something, that’s not going to fill the hour I’ll need to wait for the next bus.
Reluctantly, I follow him into a small alley. If this is what he wants to show me, I’m underwhelmed.
“How did you get across the street so quickly?” I ask.
Lowering his head, he clasps his hands together. “I used a small Miracle. Which will be fine. They’re not usually tracked. Not small ones. Probably. And anyway, I had to show you. It’s important. What else can I do . . .?” His voice drops as he continues to mutter to himself, something about how all will be forgiven when he’s saved the world, and how much of a pain in the ass it is that it’s fallen on him to deal with pesky mortals yet again.
“You know I can hear you, right?” I say.
He glowers at me, lips pressed into a thin line, before he gestures that we should go deeper into the alley. We do, although soon, the path forward is blocked by the signs of construction.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“The Purgatory Vaults,” he replies, ducking under some scaffolding. “Hurry.”
“The what now?”
“Purgatory Vaults,” he repeats, then he starts up his muttering again as he leads me to an abandoned building.
“You realize that’s not an explanation, right?” I say.
“Do all you mortals have to be so tedious?” he snaps, pulling a leather wallet from his jeans pocket. “I’ll explain when we get inside.”
He slides out a plastic keycard that, apart from being white, looks a lot like the one Adalind gave me. He flashes it at the keypad next to the door, there’s a beep, and it creaks open. After one last look over his shoulder, he pushes his way inside.
“Come on then,” he hisses.
Dim automatic lights flick on, revealing what looks like a subway station. The walls are concrete, the floor is covered in patterned linoleum, and there’s a ticket machine with an “out of order” sign. Just ahead, steps lead down into a mouth of darkness.
“Are we going somewhere?” I ask, prodding a dead rat on the floor with the toe of my Converse. “Because, hate to break it to you, but it looks like the trains are out of service.”
“No. We’re here to prevent the Apocalypse,” he says, then sighs. “Just . . . wait here a moment.”
Gabriel approaches the broken machine, pushes a few buttons, and seconds later, it shudders to life, spitting out two tickets. Then he hurries down the steps, his smart shoes clicking against the linoleum.
“The Purgatory Vaults are this way.” His voice echoes as his red head disappears into the shadows. “Come on.”
I linger at the top of the steps, breathing in the dank air as I weigh up my options. This time yesterday, I would never have even considered following some strange guy down into the depths of an abandoned train station. Or vault. Or whatever. But yesterday, he said he’d help me, and if I’ve actually signed away my soul to Devils Inc., I need all the help I can get.
My gut feeling about him is that he’s okay, if a little odd. Plus, according to him, he’s an Angel. Which is admittedly becoming easier and easier to believe.
I find him waiting for me by a set of turnstiles at the foot of the stairs. He passes me one of the tickets—pulling away quickly when my finger brushes against his—then inserts his and steps through the metal barrier. I do the same.
“So what are the Purgatory Vaults?” I say as we head through an arched door leading into a bright hallway. As we walk, we pass by a series of ornately framed paintings that give this the air of a museum or gallery; I recognize depictions of the Garden of Eden and The Last Supper, and—if the way my companion scowls is any indication—an oil painting of the Angel Gabriel.
“There are a number of contracts in place between our two companies to stop things from getting out of control,” he says. “One of these contracts led to the implementation of the Purgatory Vaults. There are certain biblical artefacts that both sides believe they have a claim to. The use of any of these would give an unfair advantage to one side.”
We stop at a metal door.
“So an agreement was made to store them in a high-security room placed in between the two organizations. Both sides can monitor the artefacts, but neither side can use them without filing the correct paperwork.”
“It doesn’t seem high-security,” I say. “We’ve literally just walked in.”
“Well, it’s lunchtime,” he explains.
“So?”
His cheeks pinken, and he hurriedly averts his gaze to the silver watch around his wrist. “I gave the security guard some vouchers for a free meal at TGI Fridays and said I’d cover his shift.”
“How dastardly of you,” I tease.
But he doesn’t seem to see the humor. “It had to be done,” he mumbles to himself. “It’s important. All will be forgiven. All will be forgiven.” He continues to mutter as he flashes his access card again.
A loud sound echoes around us as the seal around the metal door releases.
“Why did it have to be done?”
He turns his head, the expression in his ice-blue eyes deadly serious.
“Because someone has triggered the Apocalypse,” he says.
Chapter Thirteen
“The Apocalypse?” I repeat.
But Gabriel has already slipped into the Purgatory Vaults. With a frustrated sigh, I follow, only to find my questions immediately knocked out of me.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” he says, and for a moment, the worry in his voice is replaced with pride.
If I thought the hallway felt like a museum, it’s nothing compared to this. In the middle of the room, surrounded by more glass display cases than I can count, is a bench with two huge stone wings—one white, one black—curling out from either side.
What’s more, the ceiling is painted in two halves. The patch above Gabriel and me depicts a blue sky scattered with fluffy blue clouds, but then it transforms into hellish depictions of fireballs and darkness.
Directly opposite us is another high-security metal door.
“Yeah. But you mentioned something about an Apocalypse?”
He sighs and shuts the door behind us. “You mortals have no appreciation for fine things.”
“And you Angels have no manners,” I mutter.
“Pardon?” he says. When I don’t elaborate, he checks his watch again, then starts to cross the room. “This way, please.”
We weave through the display cases, each with a bronze plaque detailing its contents: a slab of stone labeled as Moses’ Tablet, a rotten piece of wood from Noah’s Ark, and a small withered plant that apparently had something to do with a guy called Jonas.
I pause when I reach a case near the stone bench. It’s cordoned off with crimson rope and has a piece of paper taped to the glass. DO NOT REMOVE. WILL DISINTEGRATE.
A single apple—a couple of bites missing—floats inside.
“The Apple of Knowledge,” reads the bronze plaque.
“The forbidden fruit from Eden, passed by the Serpent to Eve, who took a bite and persuaded her husband to do the same. Source of sin. All parties punished for breach of verbal contract. One bite will instill great knowledge—”
“Stop dawdling,” says Gabriel.
He’s stopped in front of another glass case. Behind him is a chair, a newspaper, and a half-eaten sandwich I guess belongs to the security guard now enjoying a big juicy burger at TGI Fridays.
My stomach grumbles, and a look of horror crosses Gabriel’s face.
“Is this stuff for real?” I say in an attempt to distract him from my bodily noises.
“Yes,” he says, eyes glinting with eagerness. “I’ve always found it fascinating in here. I applied for a position to oversee it once, but . . . after the incident with . . . well . . .” He becomes interested in the fire of the mural overhead.
“After the incident with what?”
His cheeks are pink again. “Never mind.”
Realizing there are more pressing matters than whatever the guy Crow referred to as a “stiff” considers embarrassing, I press on.
“So what’s in this one?” I peer inside. There are four spotlights, but whatever they’re highlighting must be small because I can’t see anything.
“Nothing,” he says like I’m a complete moron. “It’s very obviously empty.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Right. Like obviously you’re an Angel, and I obviously signed away my soul to the Devil for free Wi-Fi, and I obviously was attacked by dead people who were obviously driven away by a man who can obviously control birds—”
His eyes narrow.
“—and now I’m obviously destined for Hell while obviously standing a room that has the apple from Eden in it. Everything about this situation is so completely obvious.”
I exhale, breathing out my growing rage, and lean against the case, ignoring his look of disapproval.
“So please tell me, obviously, why are you showing me an empty display case?”
He seems nervous, although I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks I’ll start yelling again. “Well . . . because it’s empty. That’s the point. Are you familiar with the Book of Revelation?”
I shrug. That’s more Josie’s area than mine. “That’s the one that talks about the end of the world, right?”
“Yes. Revelations talks of a scroll. Nowadays, for legal purposes, there are four of them—one for each of the Horsemen. Each is bound by a wax seal, and if you’re familiar with Revelations, you’ll know that when each seal is broken, it will trigger the Apocalypse.”
When I only look at him blankly, he continues.
“This case displayed them.”
“Oh.” I start to see why he’s worried. “Where are they?”
“They were checked out a few days ago for maintenance. And they have not yet been returned. Which is very bad news indeed.” He shakes his head. “If they’re delivered to the Horseman brothers . . .”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Why don’t you just ask the person who checked them out to return them?”
“I can’t. Obvious—”
He shuts his mouth when I give him a withering look. Regrouping, he pulls his phone from his pocket and taps it a few times. There’s a table on the screen, some kind of logbook.
“What am I looking at?” I say.
“The name of the person who checked it out.”
I scan the table. “Dover, Ben” is listed beside “Apocalyptic Scrolls.”
“Dover, Ben?” Something stirs in my mind—memories of a prank Jonathon taught me once. “As in, Bend Over. You’ve been fake-named.”
“Yes. I agree,” says Gabriel. “But none of the higher-ups will give me the time of day to explain.”
I glance around, noting a security camera camouflaged among the mural’s dark clouds. “Have you checked—?”
“Of course I’ve checked the security footage!” says Gabriel. “Wiped. And the security guard says nothing unusual happened that day either.” He shakes his head. “So it falls to me.”
“What does?”
“Saving the world! Don’t you see what has happened here?” he snaps. “Someone has stolen the Revelations Scrolls! And if we don’t get them back before they are delivered to the Horseman brothers, the world ends.”
“Excuse me, ‘we’?”
“Well, I can’t do it alone!” He looks at me sideways. “Though I wish I could.”
I raise my hands. “Hey. I didn’t ask to be included in your weird end-of-the-world plan, buddy.”
“It will be dangerous,” he continues as though I didn’t speak. “But I need you to be my eyes and ears in Devils Inc. This has their name written all over it.”
“Why me?”
He glances at me incredulously. “You have access to the building, and you signed your soul away to the Devil in exchange for free Wi-Fi. As a law student, no less.”
“There’s no need to be an ass.”
He gives me an unimpressed look before sighing again. “Look, help me track down the scrolls before the Apocalypse, and I’ll help save your soul from an eternity in Hell,” he says, then he holds his hand out stiffly for me to shake. “Do we have a deal?”
I stare at his outstretched palm. After everything I’ve seen today, the damnation of my soul is starting to feel a bit too real. If I help Gabriel, I could still meet my pre-law program’s internship requirement, which would keep my parents off my case.
Two evil birds, one stone.
“Okay, deal,” I say.
His grip is firm as he shakes my hand once. Then he wipes his hand on his jacket as if he’s touched something filthy.
“Excellent,” he says, walking past me toward the door. “Shall we go?”
I follow him back through the Purgatory Vaults, coming to a halt when he stops in the part that looks like an abandoned station.
“So what do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Complete your training. Report to me if you hear anything weird. I’ll be in touch.”
I glance at the doors. “You couldn’t give me a ride home, could you?”
He looks vaguely horrified. “I don’t have a car.”
I sigh. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you then.”
I head back to the graffitied bus stop and check my cell for the time. Josie must be heading to Apocalypse for her bartender interview now. I send her a quick message to wish her luck.
Then I close my eyes to block out the midday sun. It’s making my headache infinitely worse.
It has been a weird morning. And if what Gabriel said is true, things are about to get worse. I’ve signed away my soul, and the only way to save the world is to stick out an internship that might be literal Hell.
PART TWO: APOCALPYSE
“APOCALYPSE” Employment Terms and Conditions
Dear Josie Bishop,
We are delighted to offer you the position of bartender at “Apocalypse” commencing on Saturday 21 March.
Please find the terms and conditions below. And feel free to stop by for a drink on us this evening to celebrate!
Yours Devilishly,
Darius, Felix, Will, and Chris Horseman
Apocalypse Co-Founders
This employment contract (“The Agreement”), dated Friday 20 March, is between Josie Bishop and The Horseman Brothers.
Job Title and Description
The initial job title of the Employee will be the following: bartender
On entering The Agreement, the Employee agrees to carry out duties such as serving drinks, training, cleaning, and other Apocalyptic tasks as determined by the Horseman Brothers.
Renumeration and commencement
Employee will be paid $22 per hour for services.
Job will commence imminently.
Termination
The Horseman Brothers retain the right to terminate The Agreement, with no notice, on the occasion of the Apocalypse.
Job Benefits
The Horseman Brothers may offer free drinks, training, and escape from Judgement at their sole discretion.
I hereby agree to the terms set forth in this agreement:
Name: _________________ Date:__________
Chapter Fourteen
Josie’s day so far. . .
It’s a beautiful morning, and with my interview at Apocalypse this afternoon, my day can only get better. Rays of sun shine onto my patchwork bedspread as if they’ve been sent down from Heaven itself. Despite dancing the night away and drinking a zillion appletinis, I’m feeling fresh as a freaking daisy.
I leap out of bed, wrestle my hair into a hairband, and pull on my sneakers. Then I slip in my earbuds and head out for a run. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see someone has left a ladder right over the exit. Ha! Not today, Satan! No bad omens are going to ruin this glorious morning.
Devils Inc. Page 6