Dark Hope (The Devil's Assistant)

by Smith, H. D.

  Another employee got on and off before we reached the fourth floor. I looked back at the old woman. She winked and pointed toward the right as the doors closed. A chill ran down my spine. I wasn’t sure what it was about her, but I hoped I wouldn’t run into her again.

  I followed the corridor to a small door tucked into a corner. Ignoring the sign that said ‘Employees Only’, I quietly opened the door and found myself in a narrow hallway behind the theater’s balcony boxes. The guests would use this passage to enter their box; however, they would have to come up the stairs from the main entrance on three, not sneaking in through the back.

  I could hear voices, but not clearly. I crouched down and crept into the box closest to me. Peeking over the railing, I was shocked to see the two men who had most impacted my life. The Boss was standing there with his hands in his pockets. His suit was as impeccable as always if not a bit rumpled—his hair still wet from a shower. The other man was someone I didn’t think I’d ever see again—Mr. Harrison, my old foster care caseworker. He was as I remembered, dull and average, but not as underpaid. His suit was clearly several steps up from his days as my caseworker.

  Before I could fully absorb the sight of the two men before me, the doors at the back of the theater opened. I ducked down again to make sure no one saw me.

  “Good evening, Sister,” The Boss said.

  Sister!

  “Yes, Sister, it is good to see you looking so well,” Mr. Harrison said.

  I peered over the railing again. Who were they both calling sister?

  My heart skipped a beat. Mab. She floated down the aisle toward them, her delicate dress draped over her statuesque body as if she were an ethereal angel. A cold shiver passed through me as I observed her. I couldn’t believe how wrong I’d been about her connection to the quads. She wasn’t their pagan mother’s sister. She was related to their father, The Boss.

  The Demon King and the Pagan Queen were siblings? And Mr. Harrison, how did he fit? Oh my god, no. He couldn’t be the Druid King. How was that even possible? I’ve trusted so few people in my life I could count them on one hand. Three fingers: Jack, Omar, and Mr. Harrison.

  I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised I was fooled on all counts. My boyfriend was really a servant of the Demon King, my caseworker was most likely the Druid King himself, and Omar knew more about me and my blood than I did.

  I ducked as Mab glanced at the box where I hid. She’d sensed my presence easily enough. I’m sure she knew I was here in the flesh. I considered sneaking out the way I’d come in, but I needed to see The Boss. I’d deal with the fallout if she decided to rat me out. I was running out of options, and clearly, there was more going on here than I knew.

  “Brothers,” Mab said. “It’s good to see you both again so soon.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t going to rat me out. I took a chance and spied over the railing.

  Mab stared at The Boss. “How are your children doing?”

  “You’re the one who called the meeting, Sister,” The Boss said, his lips tight and teeth ground together. He was clearly pissed to be here. And from the looks of it, with the woman upstairs in his room, I could guess what this meeting had interrupted. “I assumed you would be the one to tell me,” he finished.

  “I did not call the meeting to discuss any of your children,” she replied. “I was merely being polite. I have come to discuss the girl.”

  Mab’s lips turned up in a cruel smiled. Oh, shit. She was talking about me.

  The Boss pulled his hands from his pockets and clasped them in front of his body. He narrowed his eyes at her. Then he glanced over at Mr. Harrison.

  “What is your claim this time?” Mr. Harrison asked.

  This time?

  “She has entered my realm uninvited.”

  Mr. Harrison and The Boss stared at each other but didn’t say anything. Mab’s confident grin didn’t waver.

  The Boss straightened, standing more erect. “When?”

  “Time is not always as it seems,” she said smugly.

  I rolled my eyes. The me from this time hadn’t yet been to Purgatory. Maybe The Boss would know.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Or maybe not.

  “Something to do with your four, I suspect. It is so hard to keep track.”

  “Did she intend to enter your realm?”

  Mab waved a slender hand, dismissing his question. “We both know that isn’t relevant. The rules are clear. I can claim her for breaking the rule and entering my realm, if I choose.”

  What rule? The uninvited rule? But that would just let her kill me, right? Was there another rule I didn’t know about? A rule that gave her the right to claim me?

  The Boss’s face hardened. He didn’t seem pleased with her answers. Although it didn’t seem to me he was putting up much of a fight.

  “Harry,” she said, then paused.

  Harry... Mr. Harrison was Harry—the Godfather. I’d forgotten. The Druid King was the Godfather.

  “What a droll name you’re using these days, Brother,” Mab continued. “You’ll confirm my right to the girl.”

  Mr. Harrison eyed The Boss and shrugged. “She has a claim—if she wants her.” He lifted a brow at Mab. “You’re one to talk. You haven’t changed your name since Shakespeare used it in one of his plays. And dark hair on you has never been very becoming.”

  She laughed. “Classic is still better than Harry, Harry. I’m a pagan no matter my hair color, I am always becoming.”

  Oh my god, these were the people screwing with my life—bickering like children.

  Addressing Mab, The Boss interrupted, “Why do you want her? She’s no different from the rest.”

  There’s the protector I’ve always known. I’m glad to know at least one person doesn’t think I’m special.

  Mab smiled at The Boss. “She is your weakness, Brother.”

  The Boss’s face darkened with rage. “Hardly,” he growled.

  Mab’s lips curved up in a wicked grin. “And we all know she is different from the rest.”

  Who were the rest?

  “You can’t control fate by controlling her,” Mr. Harrison added.

  Mab ignored him, focusing on The Boss. “There is one who will be unhappy if you lose her. Do tell, Brother, is she still in the hotel or have you already sent her away?”

  His eyes flashed red, and he glared at her, teeth bared. “That deal has already been made,” he said. “We will speak of it no longer.”

  “It may have been a mistake,” Mr. Harrison intervened, stepping between them, “but Melinda is off-limits. What do you really want?”

  I stopped listening at the word “Melinda.” They were talking about her—my mother. I sank down to the floor with my back against the box.

  The perfume, the voice said.

  Images flashed in my head. Images of a blurry figure surrounded by a light beautiful fragrance. How could I have forgotten?

  The angelic beekeeper—the woman in 1313—was my mother. The only person who’d ever loved me.

  Not caring if they heard me, I scurried out of the box. I bolted down the hall toward the service elevator. It seemed to take forever to get to the thirteenth floor. I almost ran into a maid as I rushed out. Dodging her, I headed toward the room. I rounded the corner, then stopped dead in my tracks.

  Mace was standing outside the door of 1313, tapping on the screen of his phone.

  “No,” I whispered.

  His head raised. Smiling, he returned his phone to his pocket. His lip curled up on one side. “Everything,” he said, raising one eyebrow in smug satisfaction, nodding toward the hotel room.

  No, no, no. I shook my head. He couldn’t have her. Not her. The rage in me grew. A fire at the pit of my stomach churned. I wanted to kill him.

  A tingling sensation started at my wrist. My chest constricted, and my breathing became labored. Hard knots tightened in my stomach, and a hot pressure pushed against my eyes. It was happening again. It was similar to the
pain I’d felt when he showed me that Jack was a demon.

  Tiny crackles of current sparked off my watch. White wisps of electricity were swirling around the band, the action identical to what it had done with the bracelet.

  Mace’s eyes widened as the pressure increased against my eyes. I assumed they were flashing green again, but I had no way to know.

  The cart is new, the voice said.

  What? I looked behind him. There was a maid’s cart outside my mother’s room. She’d been dressed and ready to leave before. The maid was cleaning—my mother was gone. Thank God. Mace didn’t have her.

  The pressure eased, and the sparks dissipated.

  His gaze followed mine to the cart. He shrugged. “Next time.”

  He would never take her. The Boss wouldn’t let that happen.

  “I need a way out,” I said to the watch, not that I believed it held the power. I was now sure the power came from within, but I had no clue how to use it. The Keeper said I was bound by Winter, but the watch somehow let me channel my power—as crazy as that seemed.

  I caught sight of the billowing drapes before I sensed the cool air against my face.

  You’ll die, the voice warned.

  That doesn’t sound like a memory. What are you really?

  The voice stayed quiet.

  I hadn’t noticed the window until I’d asked for a way out. Maybe I had too much faith in my power. Maybe I wanted another visit with Death.

  I glanced at the window again, but turned back when Mace spoke.

  “Have you learned to fly, Claire,” he asked, his lip curled in that gorgeous sneer.

  I cocked one of my eyebrows. “We’re about to find out.”

  I spun on my heel and ran. I wasn’t returning to his care. I’d die before I let that happen. He’d already taken everything—Jack. There was nothing left if I couldn’t have my freedom. Thirteenth floor or not, I had nothing to lose.

  “Don’t let me die,” I said to the watch as the cool air hit my face.

  Nineteen

  I dove through the window as if I were jumping through a ring of fire. I spread my arms out wide after I cleared the windowsill. For a second, I was suspended in a perfect swan dive over one of the busiest streets in Underworld. I was free.

  At that moment, I didn’t actually care what happened—but magic doesn’t always work the way you expect it to—and I guess fate really did have bigger plans for me.

  I hadn’t been very specific in my instructions. Don’t let me die and give me a soft landing was what I should have said. Instead, in the blink of an eye, I was skidding, arms first, onto the roof of the building across the street. I was glad I had chosen the maintenance coveralls, or I would have had cuts and bruises all over. Instead, I wound up with a bruised elbow and two scraped knees—it could have been worse.

  I stood on wobbly legs. I went to the edge and looked over. I couldn’t really believe the jump had worked. For a second, I thought Mr. Harrison was standing on the street in front of the hotel, but whoever it was disappeared before I could be sure. I lifted my gaze to the window across the way and saw Mace.

  Shock and fury turned his face red. “You can’t hide from me,” he mouthed, retrieving one of the Hell shackles from his pocket.

  “Oh yeah?” I challenged. “Watch me.” I snapped my fingers, then whispered, “Hide me,” to the watch.

  My head was swimming so I shut my eyes to shake the light-headedness. My presence pulled from my body. I ignored the fatigue and prayed my power would hide me.

  I stood there watching my body. Please work.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I began to fade. One minute I was there, the next I was gone.

  “No,” Mace mouthed, astonished.

  As if the heat were draining out of my body, I was cold and began to shiver. My breathing became labored, and I watched in horror as my shield started failing. I started flickering back into visibility, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  I opened my eyes just as I fell to my knees, then passed out.

  ~ * ~

  I ached. I hurt. I could barely move. Not dead. I was too miserable to be dead. Exhausted, mentally and physically drained, but not dead. Death would have been easier.

  My mother. I’d seen her—sort of. She’d called him The Boss, not Conrad. Did that mean anything? Did I mean anything?

  She fed you, the voice said.

  I remembered the rolls and the orange juice. The voice was being helpful again. My stomach grumbled. She didn’t tell me who she was. She hid her identity. Were all first-Saturday-of-every-month meetings with her at the hotel?

  Don’t, I thought before the voice could argue. There’s nothing else to remember.

  I opened my eyes. The room was dark, but not pitch black. I failed to sit up on the first two attempts. On the third, I took a few deep breaths then swung my legs off the brick they called a cot. I closed my eyes again so I wouldn’t pass out or throw up from the spinning room. I was so tired and exhausted my muscles shook from the exertion. After a few minutes, my breathing slowed. I opened my eyes again.

  I was propped against the bars of the cell. I guess my days of getting my own room were over. As my eyes adjusted, I realized I was no longer wearing the maintenance coveralls. Someone had cleaned me up and changed my clothes. I was dressed in a green loose fitting shirt and pants, hospital scrubs or prison uniform, take your pick. I took stock of everything else. No shoes or socks—no watch!

  I studied my bare wrist. I had been wishing I could get the watch off for over five years. Now that it was gone I wanted it back. How the hell did they remove it? I was sure no one, except maybe The Boss, could remove it. And who were they? Mace? He’d seen me on the rooftop. This must be another of his prisons. It was so quiet. I was isolated and alone, as if he’d left me here to die. If this was Mace’s doing, I’m sure I wouldn’t be that lucky.

  Unlike the basement at the bungalow, this room resembled an actual prison. The concrete room was filled with four identical cells, with no separation from one to the next. The bars I was leaning against were the bars separating the cell next door. The walls beyond the cells were bare unpainted concrete, which made the room feel cold. A flight of stairs rose out of sight, but that was it—no door or windows.

  The other cells were empty. There was a blanket rumpled on the floor, and the cot was slightly askew in the cell on the far end. The room also had a faint musky-sweaty scent as if someone had recently spent some time down here. Good to know this was an active prison.

  I closed my eyes, to step outside my body, but nothing happened. There was no spark of power. Nothing that made me even think it was possible. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt more human than I did right now. Funny how I didn’t like it.

  I heaved myself to a sitting position away from the bars. I wanted to stand—make sure the door was locked, but with the way I felt, I was lucky to sit-up on my own. Standing wasn’t going to happen.

  There was a small crate beside the cot. A note leaned against a carton of something. I’d seen that type of tetra-pak packaging before on fancy protein energy drinks, but this one, with its bold red and blue design, didn’t look familiar. With effort, I picked up the note: “Drink this, you need your strength.”

  Yeah, right. With my luck, this would shrink me like Alice in Wonderland. No thanks.

  You could walk through the bars if it does, the voice said.

  Cute. I rolled my eyes. Stop talking to me.

  The note slipped out of my hand and landed upside down on the cot. This side said: “You won’t fully recover without it.” I tried to laugh, but it was a pathetic attempt seeing as how I could barely keep my eyes open.

  After another five minutes, when sitting was becoming an issue, I picked up the carton and read the label: Berry Blast. It didn’t sound very appetizing to me, and the big blue and red graphics, which were maybe supposed to be a blueberry and a strawberry, just looked weird. Food shouldn’t look like expressionist art. I pried op
en the lid and took a sniff then I couldn’t close it fast enough. It smelled awful. Just as I stretched to put it back on the crate, my stomach grumbled loudly. I was starving, but I wasn’t sure Berry Blast was the answer. Of course, it was the only option. I reopened the carton, held my nose, and drank.

  Just for the record, Berry Blast sucks.

  I twisted the top back onto the carton and returned it to the crate.

  There was nothing instant about Berry Blast, and sitting up wasn’t accomplishing much. I laid back down on the cot and closed my eyes.

  My stomach roiled, but I didn’t throw up. However, I did have a really sudden need to stand, which I thought was impossible considering how tired and drained I was. I braced myself for the effort of swinging my legs over the side of the cot. I was surprised when the motion practically propelled me to a standing position. I grabbed the bars to steady myself. My head was dizzy from the sudden movement, but I could stand on my own.

  Holy shit, Berry Blast rocks!

  I paced around the cell with a gnawing restlessness in my gut. My heart was pounding, my hands shaking. Lying in the bed wasn’t an option. I had to keep moving around. It was like a caffeine rush times ten. I wanted to climb the walls—literally. Clearly, I had underestimated the power of Berry Blast.

  I checked the cell door for the twentieth time. It was still locked. I tried to step outside my body now that my energy returned and I didn’t feel like death, but I was too wired to keep my eyes closed. I stopped trying after noticing that every square inch of the cement walls were covered by invisible glyphs. I couldn’t see them now, but the green glow was crystal clear to my presence. Like the basement in Mace’s bungalow, this place was warded to keep people in. The bars were for show.

  After thirty minutes of pacing, the door at the top of the stairs opened. I squinted when the lights flipped on, but my eyes adjusted quickly.

  The wooden steps creaked under his weight. My heart thudded. I was sure Mace was ready to punish me for leaving without permission and screwing up his attempt to kill Junior. I expected to feel the tingle of his mark, but nothing was there. He slowly descended the stairs into view.