Dark Hope (The Devil's Assistant)

by Smith, H. D.

  Frankie appeared to be in his early thirties, and the harsh line of his nose and jaw gave him a stern demon-ish look. I was being stereotypical, since he was a demon, but he triggered my veil detector. The anxious feeling in my stomach, the response my body had to being near a veil, wasn’t helping to settle my nerves. He shouldn’t have been veiled. It wasn’t necessary. Not down here where humans weren’t allowed.

  There wasn’t much physical difference between the beings of the three realms and humans. The pagans, druids, and demons veiled when around humans to hide what was different. Frankie’s veil wasn’t just out of place. It was wrong. His veil made him appear more like a demon.

  I checked my watch. Frankie was busy typing on his phone, but if we didn’t leave soon I’d never make it back in time.

  “I need to see a man named Wylan James,” I said. “It’s important business for The Boss.”

  Frankie’s eyes were blank, but his hardened expression was smug. “Hold your horses, toots. I gotta make the log entry before I can leave.”

  “I have to be back by noon,” I said.

  “Frankie,” the motor pool manager hollered. “Get goin’—that’s a VIP you’re driving.”

  “All right, already.” Frankie shoved the key into the ignition.

  Finally. I waved a thank-you to the manager.

  I looked up when Frankie muttered a curse. He was stabbing at the GPS, trying to clear the screen. I only caught a glimpse before the screen went blank, but I was sure the last destination had been somewhere in Paradise—which was impossible. No one who worked for The Boss could go there.

  The three realms weren’t exactly vacation destinations. I’d never been to Hell—thank God, but it was technically possible to go. My soul would be trapped in Hell when I died. Demons were souls who had already died, but had enough power or privilege to get out of Hell. While it wasn’t impossible for Frankie to go to Paradise—the druid realm—what reason would the Druid King have for allowing him passage?

  I checked my watch again, but before I could tell Frankie I’d wait for the next driver, the car lurched forward, and we were off.

  I considered asking him to return to the garage, but I really didn’t have time to wait. It was a quick pick-up—in and out—no big deal.

  Ignoring my unease, I picked up my newspaper and settled back into my seat.

  The entertainment section was taken over by the Fight Night debacle. The fight—Underworld’s biggest event—became an uncontrolled brawl after several small fights broke out in the arena. The entire event had to be shut down. For the first time in a hundred years, Fight Night was cancelled.

  I shivered when the tingle of the threshold passed through me. We’d crossed into Underworld. Buffered by the car, it wasn’t much different from a change in the cabin pressure on an airplane.

  My eyes widened as a white van screeched to a stop in front of us. Frankie slammed on the brakes, throwing me forward into the back of the front seat.

  Four tough-looking goons piled out of the white van that was now blocking the road ahead. I gripped my phone to call for help. Panicked, I glanced at Frankie to see if he was okay.

  I froze when I spotted the gun he pointed at my chest.

  I gasped. “What are you doing?”

  He grinned and then pulled the trigger.

  I expected agony to rip through my chest. When I only felt a sharp pain, I lowered my gaze to see the damage, but there was no hole in my chest. Instead, there was a blue-feathered dart.

  My eyelids drooped. Frankie had his phone to his ear. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He smirked at me, continuing his conversation. I was going to pass out.

  I fought to keep my eyes open. Frankie ran a hand through his hair, drawing the illusion away. His dark hair changed to a mousey brown, and his eyes glinted a muddy caramel. I understood now why he’d been veiled.

  “Angel...” I accused, just before I blacked out.

  Two

  My mouth was dry. That was the first thing I noticed when I came to. The second was the horrible smell of pickled olives—a druid delicacy in the Underworld, and a dead giveaway the mob was behind this.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes. Light shot through my head, making me wince. I glanced around. The room I was being held in was a large pantry lined with shelves of food and crates of fresh vegetables and fruit. My hands and feet were tied behind me. I was cold, lying on the dirty concrete floor. At least there weren’t any rabid dogs this time.

  My chest hurt where the dart hit me. I attempted to readjust, but nothing was comfortable. The ropes around my wrists and ankles were too tight, but I didn’t think I could get them off. When faint murmurs drifted in from outside, I stopped moving.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on the door across the room. At first, I didn’t hear anything. Then, as if a set of speakers had been flipped on, clomping feet and chair creaks came through loud and clear.

  “Hey, Frankie, how did you like working for The Boss?” a man with a heavy European accent asked.

  Another deeper voice—not Frankie—chuckled. Two unknown men were outside the door.

  A normal person wouldn’t have been able to hear them so clearly—or understand them, since they were speaking in Druid, but I wasn’t exactly normal, and I had gadgets.

  The veil detector wasn’t the only company issued perk I woke up with five years ago. I had no idea what made the veil detector work—spells probably—but the translator was technology. Totally manmade tech the plebes would kill for.

  It translated everything but Ancient into English, and it magnified any sound within earshot to an audible level. I’d cursed it often until I learned to control it. Now I could pick up the slightest sound and draw it near enough to listen.

  A loud scrape of wood on concrete and the deep voice bellowed, “What the—” bringing my attention back to the men outside the room. A loud grunt and what sounded like a wooden chair clattered as something big hit the floor.

  “What’s your problem?” the man with the European accent asked.

  Scuffling, a few thumps, and a jarring thud.

  “Fuck you, Frankie,” the man with the deep voice growled. “Can’t take being called an ange—”

  A grunt of pain and another shove against the door before the European said, “Chill out. Let him go, Frankie, you ugly fuck.”

  Druids were so damn touchy. They hated to be called angels. It was their own fault. They called their realm Paradise for God’s sake. What did they expect?

  Sadly, that was the only similarity to angels they had. Druids weren’t unattractive exactly, but they weren’t beautiful. They weren’t even cute; they were plain—average, ordinary, nothing special. I was stupid to have called him an angel, but he shot me with a tranquilizer dart. He deserved it.

  “Enough,” the European cried.

  “I’ll show her,” Frankie snarled.

  Shuffling feet neared the door. The click of a bolt sounded. I gasped, then relaxed, pretending to be asleep.

  The door creaked open, but was yanked closed before anyone came inside. “Don’t be stupid,” the European barked. “She ain’t worth it. Let it go.”

  In a breathy wheeze, the man with the deep voice added, “The Godfather’s not going to allow it. He was pissed when she was hurt last time. He only wanted Johnny to scare her, not try to kill her.”

  Oh, shit. “The Druid King,” I whispered. Why would he care what Johnny did to me?

  “You hear too much,” Frankie snarled. “Johnny knows what he’s doing, and once he gives the word, she’s mine.”

  I brought my attention back to the room. I couldn’t stick around—I needed to get out of here.

  Maneuvering to my back, I winced as I slammed my shoulder into a large crate. The jolt caused a small box, perched on the top of the stack, to fall forward. I rolled to miss the tumble of vegetables, but bumped up against a pair of shoes. I looked up. Frankie. The rigid edge to his face was gone. Now he was just pissed. I yelped when
he kicked me in the gut.

  A druid with dark brown hair wrenched Frankie away. “Enough,” he said.

  I recognized him as the man with the heavy European accent.

  The second man—I assumed the one with the deep voice—strode around the two. He yanked me to my feet.

  Frankie jerked his arm from the European. “Bring her,” he commanded to the man holding me, before stomping away.

  I was dragged into the restaurant’s main dining room, a bad Little Italy knock off with checkered red tablecloths and bottles of Chianti on every table. The place was empty, except for Johnny and his latest squeeze—a plump brunette wearing red lipstick and light blue eye shadow—a walking cliché.

  The woman eyed me as the men brought me around. Johnny’s expression was nondescript. Aside from the vicious scar running along his right cheek, he appeared the same as he had five years ago, brown hair, brown eyes, brown suit. Not even the scar added anything interesting to his style. He was a druid—boring, plain—deadly.

  “Who’s this, Johnny?” the brunette asked. Her voice was high-pitched and nasally. She had big boobs and bigger hair. Her dress was short and fit all her curves like a glove. She was the complete package. I didn’t see a wedding ring. She must be his mistress.

  “Nobody.” He dismissed her with the wave of a hand. “Now go.”

  “But I haven’t finished—”

  “Get out of here,” he thundered.

  Her high heels clicked a fast staccato as she left.

  “Hey, Johnny, what’s new?” Thankfully, my voice remained calm, but I wasn’t. This guy scared me.

  “You got a lot of nerve, coming back down here. I got a reputation to protect, and you ain’t done squat for me.”

  I glanced at Frankie. “You should really hope The Boss doesn’t find out about this.” I was bluffing. The Boss couldn’t care less.

  A low guttural snarl came from Frankie.

  Johnny chuckled. “You know Conrad can’t touch my people.”

  “You should show more respect, and you’re not supposed to harass his humans, yet here I am.”

  Johnny’s face was smug. “Everyone knows you’re special, Claire. You aren’t part of that deal.”

  Special. It was a cruel joke. I should have been protected like the others, but I wasn’t. Not that I knew why, and I wasn’t going to ask The Boss. It wasn’t as if we had weekly one-on-ones. Johnny could do anything he wanted. There would be no ramifications—no retribution. The Boss would probably be more pissed that Johnny called him Conrad, the Devil’s human CEO-of-a-Fortune-500-Company name.

  “What about the Godfather? He might have something to say about it.”

  Everyone went quiet, which wasn’t the reaction I expected.

  Johnny’s smug smile disappeared as he lost some of his swagger. Absently, he touched the scar on his cheek. “I run things here, not Harry,” he said.

  Was the Druid King named Harry?

  Johnny tilted his head toward the guy on my left, the man with the deep voice. Before I had a chance to react, he sucker-punched me in the gut. The wind was knocked out of me, and it hurt to take my next breath.

  Johnny’s dark mood changed, and he nodded toward the European. I flinched, expecting him to hit me, but he didn’t. He untied me, then stood me on my feet.

  Wheezing, I straightened, rubbing my wrists to return circulation.

  “You see?” Johnny said. “I can be cruel or nice—just like Harry—but if you try to run from me... Well, let’s just say you shouldn’t run.” He had a wicked grin, and his cocky expression was back.

  “What do you want from me?”

  He kicked out the seat across from him. I hesitated for a moment, then took the seat.

  “Moe,” Johnny barked. A guy I hadn’t seen, sitting off to the side behind Johnny, stood. “Get the boys out of here. I have private business to discuss.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  Moe ushered out Frankie, who still looked ready to throttle me, and the other two. Johnny and I were now alone.

  He went back to eating, skewering an olive with his knife. “You caused me a lot of trouble with the union reps. I told them we came to an arrangement.”

  I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so shocked. “Are you kidding me? That was five years ago.”

  He tossed another olive into his mouth.

  “What exactly did you expect me to do?” I asked. “I told The Boss what you said, but he’s not going to budge. Nobody gets dental.”

  “The Cleaners get dental.”

  I gaped at him for a minute, not sure if he was crazy or if I was. “Yeah, well the Cleaners don’t count.” This was a lame argument, but I didn’t have control over any of this. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? I can get you on the calendar early next week. You and Conrad can chat about it over lunch.”

  He glared at me. Okay, so it was a stupid suggestion, but what did he expect? He was the crazy who wanted Maintenance to get dental, and apparently, he was willing to hurt me to make that happen. As if that would work. I didn’t get dental; no one got dental, but he was acting as if it was the holy grail of company perks. Why did he even care?

  “I don’t understand why you think I can make this happen. It’s ridiculous you’re even asking. He’s already said no.” And he hates me.

  “Should I call my boys back? Have them rough you up? I don’t believe I went far enough the last time.” Johnny skewered another olive.

  Worse things have happened to me since, but you never forget your first time. I didn’t want to spend another three days in a locked room protected by a circle of salt. He sent me to The Boss with a message: Maintenance gets dental or next time he’d send me back dead. This was next time.

  I forced back the tears that threatened to fall. What would Jack think if I didn’t come home for a few days—or ever? I couldn’t solve Johnny’s problem, and he knew it.

  He studied me, then chuckled. He was enjoying my fear.

  I squared my shoulders and glared back at him. “I can’t get you what you want. We both know that. If you aren’t going to kill me, have Frankie bring the car around. The Boss wants me back by noon, and I still have an errand to run.”

  Johnny’s brows rose, then he threw back his head and laughed. “You’re something else, kid. You know that?”

  “Why did you really bring me here?”

  He stopped laughing and dropped his silverware onto his plate with a clatter. Pulling the napkin off his lap, he wiped his mouth then spoke. “The Families aren’t happy about the fight.” He tossed the napkin onto the table. “You cost us a lot of money.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You were supposed to stay out of downtown,” he said. “I made that clear the last time, didn’t I?”

  “This is the first time I’ve been down here in months.” Although, in light of Junior’s behavior, I was wondering if I had an evil twin who liked pissing off mobsters and hellspawn.

  “It was all hooked up, until you showed up.”

  Hooked up was probably code for fixed. I remembered an article from the paper. It had mentioned something about the bookies taking bets against Wagner winning. Since the fight was canceled, Wagner didn’t win. The bookies must have lost a great deal of money. That was probably what Johnny meant, but that had nothing to do with me.

  “I wasn’t at the fight.”

  He was about to say something when a fidgeting Moe returned. He rubbed the back of his neck, and a bead of sweat threatened to roll down his cheek. He hesitated when Johnny motioned him over. Moe leaned down and whispered something in Johnny’s ear.

  He frowned. “How did he find out?”

  I focused on Moe’s whispered voice.

  “I-I called him,” he admitted. “I thought you would want—”

  Johnny’s eyes narrowed. A choking gurgle came from Moe. His eyes bulged as Johnny’s will wrapped around him. Moe had obviously made a mistake. Whoever he called wasn’t someone Joh
nny wanted notified. Was it the Godfather? Johnny seemed dismissive before. Maybe he didn’t want Harry involved.

  Johnny tugged Moe forward, bringing his ear close to whisper. His words were so low I couldn’t make them out.

  Moe peered at me. Johnny growled when Moe shook his head. His face was turning red. With little effort, Johnny threw him against the wall. Moe crumpled on the ground, sucking in air as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Frankie,” Johnny shouted.

  Frankie bustled back into the room. He glanced at Moe, who was staggering to his feet. “Yeah, boss?”

  “Bring the car around. It’s time for our guest to leave.”

  Frankie’s brows lowered, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Sure, boss,” he said, staring daggers at me, then at Moe.

  “Now,” Johnny ordered and Frankie left without another word. Turning to me, Johnny said, “You come again, and I’ll kill you myself.”

  The dark gleam in his eyes left no doubt he was serious.

  “Oh, and another thing—” He eyeballed something above my head “—don’t be late.”

  I turned just in time to see Moe’s right hook.

  ~ * ~

  I woke up in the back of the town car. I winced as I touched my eye. It would be black and blue by tomorrow. It had been a while since someone actually knocked me unconscious. My head hurt worse now. I hate druids.

  Frankie sat in the front seat reading what was left of my paper. I checked my watch— half past noon. Ugh. The Boss is going to kill me. Probably what Johnny wanted. I leaned my head against the seat. Why did I have to tell him when I was supposed to be back?

  I touched my bruised eye again. “Did you have to knock me out? Couldn’t you just hold me until I was late?”

  “Nope,” Frankie said. “We had orders.”

  “What orders?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Was it the Godfather?” Not that it made sense, but whom else could it have been?

  Frankie’s eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. His intense stare and clenched jaw were frightening.

  I leaned back against the seat, not wanting to be near him.

  “Yes,” he finally said.