Dark Hope (The Devil's Assistant)

by Smith, H. D.

  I shoved my phone back into my bag. That plebe needed to mind her damn business. In an hour, the rumor mill would probably have me connected to Quaid, leaving Junior broken-hearted. At least that meant she didn’t know Junior was dead.

  I stretched out an arm to grab one of the rings clutched in the lion’s mouth, but before I touched it, the head came to life and let out a deafening roar. A pulse of energy washed over me, causing me to take a step back. I rubbed my arms as an icy chill ran down my spine, enveloping me in a cool breeze. The sky overhead appeared lighter, and the lion’s head was once again in a bronzed state.

  The sudden environment change was weird. Had the sky really been darker a minute ago, or had I just not noticed the full moon?

  I reached my hand toward the other lion, but pulled back as both doors slowly opened.

  Fresh baked cookies wafted through the doors, flooding me with a sense of love and trust. Before I could decide what this meant, I registered new scents and feelings. The aroma switched to a bouquet of fresh flowers, and an overwhelming mood of home and safety. My eyes drifted closed as I recognized crisp apples sliced fresh for a pie, just as the feeling of hope and promise engulfed me.

  I liked it.

  My eyes shot open when I registered the scent of roses. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and took a tentative step back.

  As if the savory odors somehow held power, an invisible force surrounded me. I had to stay alert, and sharp. I couldn’t let the smells affect my other senses. Being tricked into one of Cinnamon’s games wasn’t my idea of fun. She’d sent me on more than one useless errand in the past just to piss off her father.

  Inside the giant doors was a beautiful garden courtyard—in daylight; while outside it was night. The garden stretched impossibly far into the distance. The door was obviously a portal, but to where?

  “Who are you, and what do you want?” a voice said from somewhere inside the courtyard.

  I dropped my gaze to see an uncommonly short man dressed in a red and purple outfit. The style—if not the color—matched something the king’s guard would have worn in King Arthur’s time. The man didn’t go with the outfit. He was exceedingly round with a pudgy red face that would have better suited the court jester. His short, meaty fingers clutched a clipboard—very twenty-first century—with a blank piece of parchment trapped under the clip. He held what appeared to be a feather quill pen, but it was really just a fancy ballpoint.

  “I’m here to see Cinnamon,” I informed him. “It’s a family matter.”

  The sentry dropped his head to check the blank parchment. “You’re not on the list.”

  I paused, realizing he had, in fact, just checked a blank list. “It doesn’t appear anyone is on the list.”

  “That’s right,” he confirmed. “We aren’t expecting any visitors today.”

  “I didn’t say I was an expected visitor.”

  “Well...” The man glanced at the parchment then focused on me. “What kind of visitor are you?”

  That was certainly a loaded question. I wasn’t on official family business, so anything I said would technically be a lie. But time was running out. Quaid was already hunting for me, and I needed to see all four quads before he found me. So I didn’t give a rat’s ass I was about to lie.

  “Cinnamon asked me to come.”

  “You’re invited?” His eyes maintained steady contact.

  “Yes,” I said, hoping he had no truth sense.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? This way, please.” The sentry fluttered aside and motioned for me to enter.

  All thresholds are different. As soon as I passed through the one into Cinnamon’s fortress, I realized how stupid I’d been to leap before I looked. The cyclone of energy that hit me dropped me to my knees with a sharp crippling pain leaving me crouching on hands and knees, unable to move.

  Waves of energy rushed through me. A force I couldn’t break free from held me to the ground. My eyes burned, and my skin tingled. Locked immobile on my hands and knees as a cold stabbing pain and wave upon wave of energy, sensations, and chills ran through my body, all I could do was scream, but no sound came out.

  The energy increased as it flowed into the ground through my hands and legs before looping back around and shooting into me through my eyes. Each cycle was more intense. Cold. So cold. I shuddered as my body slowly froze.

  A hand clutched my shoulder. The touch was so hot it burned. I was lifted—ripped away from the ground—breaking the energy loop. The cycle stopped, and my normal senses started to return. My head pounded. With shaking hands, I wiped away the blood dripping from my nose.

  I jumped when the doors slammed shut behind me, and everything popped into crystal clear clarity.

  My chest tightened. The veil detector was on overdrive. And I didn’t just sense the veil. Now it was as if I could read it, and I knew it hid a demon.

  I searched for the demon. The doorman was gone, but seven similarly dressed men circled me. I sensed no veils. They were all human.

  With their chiseled faces and, I’m guessing, washboard abs, these guys were men Cinnamon would have dated. Not even the ridiculous red and purple king’s guard outfits could make them look bad. Regrettably they were each holding a long spear, the point about a foot from my body. I stood perfectly still. I didn’t want to die over a misunderstanding.

  “I demand you explain yourself,” I said, trying to sound as if they were wasting my time and would be sorry once Cinnamon found out.

  No one moved.

  “You weren’t invited,” accused the demon I hadn’t yet seen. “In Purgatory, that’s punishable by death.”

  Purgatory! Oh, shit, that’s where Cinnamon’s portal led? Of all the places I could have walked into, this realm was the worst. What the hell was she doing here? She was half pagan, but she hated this place. This wasn’t good. Purgatory had very specific rules about who was and wasn’t allowed in.

  I wasn’t an expert on the realm, but I knew the rule about being invited. I’d actually learned that in elementary school—long before I had any idea pagans were real. I’d read about pagans and other magical tales in a book I was given as a gift from one of my social services caseworkers. I didn’t get any gifts growing up, so the book was treasured—and I’d jokingly thought maybe a little possessed.

  It was one of the few things that made it through my childhood. The book always got packed or saved or sent to the new place. My birth certificate was lost six times, but not that book. I’d read it again after I learned pagans were real, and if everything in it was true, then being killed was the least of my worries. If I’d known this was Purgatory, I wouldn’t have dared cross the threshold.

  “You’re not a pagan so why do you care?” I asked.

  I heard the snap of the demon’s fingers. The sentries inched closer, bringing the tips of their spears near my throat.

  Okay, so he cared, but why? “My apologies, sir,” I said. “If you notify Cinnamon I’m here, she will vouch for me.”

  He chuckled. “Unfortunately,” he said, walking into my field of vision, “ignorance of the rules will not save you from them.”

  At first glance, he certainly appeared to be Cinnamon’s type with his short brown hair that was long enough to curl at the ends, with more of a sexy just-out-of-bed style than full-on ringlets. His eyes were dark, but his features were more rugged than harsh. If I didn’t know otherwise I’d say he was human.

  “You do know the rules, don’t you?” he purred.

  He chortled at the expression on my face, so I concentrated on presenting a neutral expression, which was harder than one might think.

  “Cinnamon isn’t available at the moment,” he added. “You will have to deal with me.”

  “Who exactly are you?”

  “You’re certainly bold,” he said, smiling.

  I rolled my eyes. If there was one thing that annoyed me the most about magic users, it was the superstition about knowing their Name. I wasn’t sure what I
could do with it exactly, but asking was generally considered rude.

  “You may call me Charles.”

  Charles, if that was his real Name—but probably wasn’t—slinked closer. He stood in front of me between two sentries. The slightest glint of red winked in his eyes, and I caught the scent of something old and ugly. For a moment, a glimmer of his true self was visible. He was still handsome, but the harder lines of his face made him look angry, as if he had a permanent scowl. I marveled at the enhancement to my ability. It was incredible. Then in a flash, the illusion returned. I’d seen through the veil—I was sure of it, but why couldn’t I hold onto it? Why did his human facade return?

  Was Charles’s power that strong?

  I couldn’t even sense Omar or The Boss’s veil before, but I’d never know if Charles was like them. The old power was gone. Now I had to learn to use this one. Maybe if I narrowed my focus, I could crack the illusion. I’d done it a few seconds ago. I just needed practice.

  Lifting my chin, I said, “I am here on family business. I insist you find Cinnamon.”

  His smug expression unnerved me. He was arrogant, but I didn’t think he would be bold enough to disobey The Boss.

  “What’s going on here?” Cinnamon’s voice broke into our showdown.

  When she came into sight, the first thing I noticed was her height. She usually wore killer five-inch heels that made her the same height as her brothers. Today her feet were bare, which put her six-foot frame even with Charles. Her absent shoes weren’t the only things different. Her usual little black dress had been replaced by a casual lemon-yellow sundress that flowed around her flawless body like silk. She wore it with all the poise and grace of a goddess, but it wasn’t her usual style. The hair was wrong too. She usually wore her long blonde locks down—perfectly straight, not pulled back into a tidy ponytail.

  I moved toward her. Matching me, the sentries marched forward. I froze, not wanting to be impaled.

  “It’s nothing, dear,” Charles said to her, never taking his eyes off me.

  Cinnamon glanced between us. “It looks like you’re planning to kill my father’s favorite.”

  I held back a disgusted huff. She only called me that to piss me off. If the Devil was even capable of having a favorite, it sure as hell wasn’t me.

  She smiled. “Not that I care, exactly, but I don’t want to have to explain her death to him.”

  I was sure she was joking. Not about not caring—that part was true—but she’d never let Charles kill me. Her brothers would have, but not Cinnamon. Sage would have walked away as if he knew nothing about it. Sorrel would have watched. Mace would have killed me himself. Cinnamon, however, wouldn’t want to disappoint her father. She might not have been so generous if she knew I was here on my own.

  Charles’s tight grin wavered. He turned his gaze on Cinnamon. She stood tall and regal. Despite her clothing, she was her confident self, exactly as I expected. He was handsome, but she was the one in control. Her boy toys did what she said.

  She beamed when she caught his eyes. I smelled the sickly sweet aromas I’d caught before, but it wasn’t as pleasing now. She slid into his embrace. Willingly. My mouth dropped open.

  “She came in uninvited,” he said. “I was thinking I might have her run the maze.”

  Cinnamon’s eyes went glassy as she leaned into him. Her interest in me vanished. His voice was hypnotizing her—enchanting her!

  “Cinnamon,” I shouted, trying to get her attention. “I must speak with you in private. It’s very urgent family business.”

  Charles’s lip curled as he glanced back at me. Cinnamon was so wrapped in his spell she couldn’t hear me. When my vision sharpened, his true form peeked out again then his human mask returned.

  I started to speak again. He motioned for one of the sentries. I lifted my head to avoid the point as he inched the blade closer. If I remained still the blade wouldn’t cut me.

  In a sleepy voice, Cinnamon asked, “What were we talking about, dear?”

  “Nothing,” he crooned. “You should go lie down as you need your rest.”

  With a vacant nod, she slipped out of his arms and headed toward the main house. She stumbled through the courtyard until a demon woman hurried out to help her.

  The demon woman’s pale blue sundress matched Cinnamon’s in style. The female’s dark hair was gathered into a high ponytail with a wild streak of indigo blue running along the left side of her head. She stopped for a moment when she noticed me. She eyed Charles before bowing her head slightly. His attention remained fixed on me so he didn’t see the demon woman’s gesture. I was sure I’d never seen her before, at least not in her demon form, but she recognized me.

  She tugged Cinnamon toward the house.

  Demons in Purgatory enchanting hellspawn—that wasn’t supposed to happen, right? Cinnamon was in trouble. There was no way she’d let anyone control her. Based on her reactions, she obviously forgets that he spells her once it wears off. Did The Boss know she was in Purgatory? Did he care? I’d always considered her his favorite, which really meant he didn’t have a scowl on his face when she left his office. Would he leave her trapped under Charles’s control if he knew? Was I supposed to help her?

  Omar’s instructions were vague. He’d only said to visit the quads. Could I walk away? The cold blade of the spear pressed against my skin, reminding me the first thing I had to do was figure out how to avoid getting killed in Purgatory.

  “Now, back to you,” Charles said, trying to charm me.

  The magic power of his spell radiated off him in waves, but the enchantment didn’t have the same effect on me as it had on Cinnamon. The smell was still overwhelming, but there was no sense of distraction. I wasn’t being lulled by its charms any longer. “I know what you are, demon. The Boss will not be pleased.”

  Charles put his hands to his mouth in mock surprise, but the wicked glint in his eyes was cold and calculating. “If I were you,” he threatened. “I would worry less about me and more about getting through the maze.”

  The sentries took hold of me and, led by the little man with the clipboard, marched me to the edge of a tall hedge. He said something I didn’t quite catch, then shoved me through the foliage.

  Charles called it the maze. So naturally, I expected to fall face down onto a grassy path between another equally large hedge. Instead, I stumbled into the middle of a road, where I was almost run over by an ice cream truck. I jumped out of the way just in time, as it barreled past, turning left onto a side street, blaring a tune any kid in America would recognize.

  I leaned over resting my hands on my knees. My heart thumped from the adrenaline rush of nearly being hit. I forced myself to take long, slow breaths. Hyperventilating right now wasn’t going to help.

  After a minute I stood, taking in my surroundings. I was on a two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere. Behind me, a rusty barbed-wire fence stretched into the distance. Beyond that a field of grass so brown and lifeless rolled over small hills and into valleys. Its appearance made me wonder why it hadn’t already returned to dirt.

  Across the road in front of me sat an old weathered farmhouse. The deserted wraparound porch contained a single broken rocking chair—tilting from its missing rocker. The cracked and peeling white clapboard siding was dull and lifeless, leaving no question as to why the yard was little more than dirt and weeds.

  Where the hell was I? I trudged forward. The crunch of gravel under my feet pierced the dead silence. I stopped moving and listened, which was when I understood why everything seemed off. There wasn’t any sound. The trees weren’t rustling, the wind wasn’t whistling, and the birds weren’t singing. To be more accurate, there were no birds to sing. Now, I couldn’t even hear the ice cream truck. Nothing, except for me, seemed alive at all in this place. It couldn’t be real.

  I reached into my bag for my phone. If I was right, it would confirm I was still in Purgatory. Not some abandoned road in the middle of nowhere.

  I groaned
. “Not again.”

  The GPS readout was flipping between China, Purgatory, and nothing as if the phone couldn’t decide where it was. My perfect phone was losing it, but that wasn’t my real problem. The battery indicator was flashing yellow. Earlier in the day it was three-quarters full, now it was almost dead. It had a similar problem last Friday, which I’d ignored because a full charge later that night seemed to sort it out. It was obvious now there must be a bigger problem with the battery. I listened for a dial tone, but whatever caused the GPS to go bonkers affected my service.

  I switched the phone off and threw it back into my bag. I wanted to scream. I was trapped with a busted phone in an abandoned world with no obvious way out. Frustrated, I kicked a pebble across the street. It skittered along the asphalt breaking the quiet. I took a deep breath and looked down the road both ways. To the left was an industrial building in the near distance; to the right at least a mile down the road was another farmhouse.

  “Which way?” I muttered, shaking my head.

  My wrist tingled. I checked my watch and barked out a laugh. Of all days. The hands of the watch were spinning around wildly in both directions.

  Exhaling with a long breath, I dropped my hand. The damn thing was nearly perfect. For the past five years, it always had the right time and even morphed itself into a style appropriate for my wardrobe. Jeans and a T-shirt equaled rugged hiking watch; office suit equaled silver bracelet watch. The fact I couldn’t remove it and I hated wearing a watch at all was apparently inconsequential.

  Now the nearly perfect, completely annoying watch didn’t tell time.

  “Awesome,” I screamed. Maybe an overreaction but I wanted to hear...something.

  I headed to the left toward the industrial building. It was closer than the other farmhouse, and the ice cream truck had come from that direction. Maybe the building would lead to something, or someone.

  Ten minutes later, I stood in front of the industrial building ready to scream again. It was an empty shell of brick and concrete. Every other window was busted, and any unpaved areas were overrun with weeds. The lines of the parking lot were so faded they almost didn’t exist.