Dark Hope (The Devil's Assistant)

by Smith, H. D.

  Only it wasn’t Mace.

  It was Mr. Harrison—Harry—the Godfather—the Druid King.

  He’d been my protector as a child. There was an amber glint that ran across his eyes now, but that was the only difference. He had the same amount of gray hair as before, although I’d never thought it suited him. He was exactly as I remembered: taller than average, a nondescript face, and light brown hair. A druid.

  The Druid, I suppose.

  Of course, I’ve never really met the man in front of me. There was no Mr. Harrison.

  He gave me a steady look but didn’t immediately speak. I suspected he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know I already knew who he was—who he really was.

  We both stood there staring at the other. I had trusted this man. He was the one person I considered trying to contact when The Boss took me, but I couldn’t do that to him. The Boss made the rules very clear. No one could know whom I really worked for. What sucked now was that I’m sure Mr. Harrison had always known what happened. Hell, he probably had his boys pick me up and deliver me to The Boss.

  At least, I had my answer as to why he wasn’t there five years ago. Why he hadn’t ridden in on a white horse and saved the day? I blinked back the tears that threatened.

  Mr. Harrison grew solemn. “Claire... There is a lot you don’t understand.”

  “Harry.” I tilted my head. “You don’t mind if I call you Harry, right? Or should I remain formal? Mr. Harrison? The Druid King seems a bit arrogant, but hey, whatever you want.”

  He smiled. “Harry will do.”

  “So, did someone call the police? Did you come to save me again?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Claire—”

  I held up my hand. “Don’t.” I didn’t want to hear his excuses. “I need to speak to the Demon King. Can you take me to him?”

  His gaze slid to the side. Frowning, he said, “You don’t belong to him anymore.”

  “Anymore? Did I ever? What claim did he make when you handed me over at sixteen? Did you get any proof? Did you get any proof from her? Am I just some prize you people collect and pass around? Is it her turn?”

  He opened his mouth—closed it. Opened it again. “Claire, you’re—” He paused.

  “Different from the rest?”

  His eyebrows rose, then dropped as if he were considering something. After a few seconds, he said, “You were there? At the meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  “How? We should have sensed you,” he said. “And how did you understand us?”

  I had no reason to hide the truth. I suspected Mab made it all possible, but I had no proof. I shrugged. “I have no idea, and I heard English.”

  His eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe me. After a moment, he looked away. “Interesting,” he finally said. “She wanted you to hear us—but why?”

  “Who the hell knows? She’s your sister. Why don’t you ask her?”

  His lip curled into an amused grin.

  “How can you do this to me?” I asked. “Give me to her? Or him? Or even keep me here at all? What is so different about me that I need to be owned by one of you?”

  “Mab is using you to get what she wants from our brother. She will throw you back once she has it.”

  Harry was lying. He couldn’t know what Mab would do. She’d have no reason to give me back. According to her, this wasn’t her first claim. Obviously, she wanted me, but why? “You don’t know that, and I don’t even think you believe it.” I called his bluff. “Of course, who am I kidding? Why would the Druid King—the most feared of the royals—care?”

  Harry’s mouth twitched. “He will save you if he can.”

  “Right,” I drawled. “Don’t hold it against me if I don’t consider that money in the bank.”

  “Claire—”

  “So that’s it. You’re going to hand me over to Mab and hope she loses interest, or The Boss saves me?”

  “It’s the law.”

  “The law. Unbelievable.”

  “Claire—”

  “Okay, fine, the law,” I said, making the quote mark gesture. “I don’t understand why you have to do it. Why not just let me walk out of here? Let her find me herself?”

  “Because he didn’t bring you here.” Mace’s voice came from the top of the stairs as I felt the tingle of proximity affecting his mark.

  I backed away from the cell door, almost tripping over the crate.

  “Hello, Uncle,” Mace said, entering the basement. “Is she well enough to travel now?”

  Harry’s lips pressed together briefly before he answered. “She is.”

  Mace appeared calm, which was its own joke. I prevented him from killing Junior. He failed because of me, and Mab didn’t strike me as a person who liked failure.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” Mace said, nodding at Harry.

  Harry inclined his head.

  “Wait,” I said before he could leave. “You can’t just leave me with him.”

  Harry eyed me but spoke to Mace. “I have no claim, as you know, Nephew, but I should remind you that my sister expects her property returned undamaged.”

  Mace pasted a tight smile on his face. “Yes, Uncle. You have no claim. Thank you, again for the hospitality of allowing me to use your residence.”

  “Of course, Nephew.” Harry’s nostrils flared. His cold dark eyes glowed with power.

  Mace bowed his head and kept it lowered. “Thank you, sir,” he said, this time sincerely. “I acknowledge your advice. I will not damage Aunt Mab’s property. I swear it.”

  Without another word, Harry turned away. The creak of the stairs echoed as he left the basement, leaving me alone with Mace.

  Mace was livid when he faced me. Not that it would do me any good, but I stayed pressed against the back wall of the cell, as far away from the door and any open bars as possible.

  He caught me with his will and moved me to the cell door. A frozen expression hardened his face, and the fake smile didn’t reach his eyes. Extending his hand through the bars, he touched my cheek. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

  He caught my face when I tried to look away and studied me. After a moment, his face changed. Maybe he saw something in my gaze—something that made a smile touch his eyes.

  Sliding his hand around to the back of my neck, he pressed me flush with the bars then laid his other hand on my stomach. “I’m going to enjoy taking this away from you,” he said with a wicked grin.

  I glanced down at his hand, at how he cupped my belly. “No. You’re lying.”

  He chanted a few words of Demon, I think, and a white-hot pain shot through my middle. As the energy flowed, it danced around inside me until it coalesced on something deep within my abdomen. I cried out when it cradled the tiny ball within.

  I fell to the floor when he released me and curled into a ball. My stomach thrummed as if he’d sucker-punched me, but it was worse than that. I wrapped my arms around my waist and willed myself to stop shaking.

  “You’ll have nothing of his. Not unless I allow it.”

  I couldn’t be pregnant, but if I was, had he just taken it? “You bastard. I don’t believe you. And forget about killing Junior. I saw Quaid at the fight. You’ll never get to him now.”

  Mace’s smirk fell. Technically, everything I’d said was true. I had seen Quaid at the fight; I just never got the chance to talk to him.

  After a few seconds, Mace roared with laughter. “That’s good, Claire,” he said chortling. “Some of it’s even true, but unlike the baby, which you’ll have to wait a few weeks to confirm, I can prove you wrong now about Quaid.”

  Still amused, he took out his phone and typed a few words, then dropped it back in his pocket.

  Ignoring him, I inspected my stomach. He said it would take a few weeks to confirm, which meant he hadn’t removed it…if it was real. I pushed myself off the floor. The pain had subsided, but I could still feel the knot in my stomach.

  I heard movement from the top of the stairs. Heavy
clomps came down at a quick clip. My mouth fell open.

  “It was a good lie, Claire,” Mace said, turning to face our guest. “Do tell me which part was really true.”

  I stood there gaping at the last man I ever thought would betray The Boss. Quaid—The Boss’s right-hand man, sauntered in, as if he owned the place.

  “Why?” I snarled at him.

  “You look like hell, Claire,” Quaid said, his grin more sneer than smile. He’d looked like one of the security team at the fight. Now he was dressed in a black on black suit, his short dark hair in a perfect military cut—his usual office look.

  “Why?”

  His lips dropped on one side, leaving a lopsided smirk. “I’ve got my reasons. Let’s just say he’s got it coming.”

  “Apparently,” Mace interjected, “Junior killed his beloved. A thousand years ago, I believe you said.”

  Quaid scowled at Mace. All humor was gone from his face.

  “I have my doubts, of course, but others were convinced. Not that you—”

  “I cleared security out of the way,” Quaid said. “This is what we agreed I’d do. You had your chance and blew it. The seer who came to me didn’t tell me where he saw the body—just that he saw Junior dead.”

  Oh? “What seer?”

  “Not Omar.”

  “He’s not—” I cleared my throat when the spell wouldn’t let me say he’s not the only one I know.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Quaid asked.

  “She does that a lot,” Mace answered for me.

  Quaid snorted.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. Is that all you need? I have things to do.”

  “You are in this until the end. You will accompany us to see Aunt Mab.”

  Already shaking his head, Quaid started to speak.

  “It’s not a request. The queen has commanded it.”

  Quaid glared at me as if I had something to do with his problems.

  “This is all you, big guy,” I said. He was the one going against The Boss.

  “Leave,” Quaid spat at Mace. “I wish to speak to Claire alone.”

  “No.”

  “Why? Are you afraid she’ll beg me…to save her?”

  “She’s mine,” Mace shouted. “My influence here is limited, but I’ll have complete control in Purgatory.”

  Complete control. What the hell did that mean?

  Quaid’s jaw tightened.

  “She has sworn her allegiance to me. A bond with a pagan over Pagan cake is almost impossible to break.”

  Quaid eyed me. “I was under the impression she belongs to Mab now.”

  The cords in Mace’s neck tightened. “She will give her to me as a gift,” he said confidently.

  Quaid didn’t hide his amusement.

  Mace was a fool. I had no idea why exactly, but Mab would never give me up.

  He scowled at Quaid. “You’re walking a fine line,” he growled. “If my father knew—”

  “If your father knew you were trying to kill Junior,” Quaid interrupted, “he would not be pleased.”

  “You should not be too quick to presume you’re in Mab’s favor,” Mace warned.

  “I would suggest you take your own advice.” Quaid’s tone was smug.

  Mace was silent for a moment, but the anger in his eyes was clear. I don’t think Quaid would have been so smug if he were an ordinary demon. His size was impressive, but hellspawn were more powerful than demons. Quaid, however, was protected from hellspawn vengeance by very strong spells given to him by The Boss. He would not have been very effective otherwise.

  Mace had no choice but to back down. “Talk all you want, she will be mine.” He sneered at me before leaving the basement.

  Quaid stayed behind although I had no idea what he’d want to discuss.

  “Why are you here? I don’t believe that bullshit story about your beloved any more than Mace.”

  Quaid shrugged. “I have my reasons.”

  “Good for you. Now if you aren’t going to get me out of here, leave. I’m not in the mood.”

  I dropped back onto the cot, lying flat and closing my eyes. I studied him with my presence. He glanced back toward the stairs and lifted his hand as if he were going to open the door. He lowered it, shaking his head.

  “Which devil are you really working for?” I asked him, hoping it would prompt him as it had with Mace. He didn’t seem to notice.

  He turned to leave the basement, pausing before he reached the stairs. “What has happened must happen,” he muttered then climbed and left.

  What the hell was that?

  Twenty

  “Claire,” a woman’s voice said, but it didn’t sound like it came from a person. It sounded ethereal, if ethereal had a tone. “Claire,” it called again, and this time I opened my eyes.

  I wasn’t in the cell in the basement anymore. Weightless, I was floating. Other than the voice, there was no noise in this place, only waves of glittery light cutting through the darkness.

  “Who’s there?” I asked.

  The pressure of the light weighed on me as if I walked out of an air-conditioned room into a hot, humid summer day. But the temperature wasn’t hot. It wasn’t anything but an empty, insubstantial nothingness to float in.

  “A friend,” the woman said.

  “Where are we? Who are you?”

  I heard a small laugh, then she said, “Somewhere in your head, I suppose.”

  What? “Who are you?”

  “You won’t let me talk anymore. I’m lonely.”

  Was this the voice? I took a calming breath. “Okay, just so I’m clear. You’re the voice?”

  “I have a name.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re my subconscious that was spelled to not let me forget. You don’t have a name.” I paused for a beat, then added, “Only crazy people give the voices in their head names.”

  “It’s Jayne.”

  “I’m not calling you Jayne…I can’t believe my inner voice thinks it has a name.”

  “I’m not a result of the spell, but the spell did unlock me. You’re not crazy.”

  “Right, the voice in my head assures me I’m not crazy.” I rubbed my eyes. “This is a nightmare, and I need to wake up.”

  “I needed to tell you something, but you weren’t listening,” the voice admonished. “This was the only thing I could think of to get your attention.”

  If I stop listening, will it go away?

  “No.”

  Ugh. The voice can read my mind. “Fine, what?”

  “You must not eat or drink anything while you’re in Purgatory.”

  “Why not?”

  “It will give her too much control.”

  “Who, Mab?” But instead of getting an answer, I was sinking away from the darkness. I fought to stay in the void, but nothing worked. “Wait,” I shouted.

  “For what?” Harry asked.

  My eyes shot open. He was standing outside the cell, studying me.

  I sat up on the cot, dropping my legs over the side. I must have fallen asleep after Quaid left. “Nothing, just a bad dream,” I said. Either that or I’m crazy and there really was a voice in my head named Jayne.

  There was a new power shake sitting on the crate. I would have rather had real food, but another healing boost wouldn’t hurt. The effects were more immediate this time. I was feeling them before I’d finished half the carton.

  “Mace—the quads—are trying to kill Junior,” I said before anyone could interrupt us again. I couldn’t give him any of the specifics, but I could tell him what they planned.

  Harry’s expression didn’t change.

  “I guess that’s not your problem,” I said. Again, no reaction. I shook my head.

  “Don’t try that jump again,” he warned. “I might not be there to save you next time.”

  I glared at him. It had been him outside the hotel, and now he wanted gratitude. “Don’t pretend to care. I didn’t ask you to save me this time.”


  His body stiffened, and his eyes flashed a wicked amber glow.

  I still thought of him as Mr. Harrison, which was stupid. He was the Druid King, and I’d do well to remember that.

  He took a deep breath. “I thought you might want this back before you leave.” He held up my watch.

  My watch! I pushed myself off the cot and crossed to the door.

  He pulled it back. “Don’t use this in Mab’s presence. She’ll sense it and take it from you.” He extended it again.

  “Okay.” I took the watch and put it back on. It morphed into a black military-issue, ladies’ watch. Very utilitarian—practical—something to go perfectly with my standard-issue prison scrubs. I’d wanted this thing off for years, now I was relieved to have it back. “How did you get it off?”

  “It’s one of mine,” he said. “I created it for you.”

  Created it for me? “But I got this at the company.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

  I thought back to the day I’d been kidnapped off the street. If it had been the mob—Harry’s boys—they could have put it on me before delivering me to The Boss. I could have been wearing it when I arrived. I was unconscious—who knows when I actually got the watch.

  “Okay, fine. I don’t know where I got it, but why did you take it off?”

  “The watch lets you access your power. When you jumped, you used too much of it and almost died,” he said. “I had to remove it so you could heal.”

  “The Keeper said it was my power—”

  “The Keeper?” Harry’s expression hardened. “You’ve spoken to the Keeper? When?”

  “Why do you care?”

  My conversation with the Keeper ran through my head. She’d talked of the seasons. I’d decided The Boss was Summer. Harry’s his opposite, right? Would that mean Harry was Winter? She hadn’t declared Winter’s sex, but Fall—the mysterious fourth realm—was a her, and Spring was a he. Mab wasn’t hidden, so she couldn’t be Fall and not Spring. She had to be Winter—which meant Harry had to be Spring.

  Harry’s pet? I let out a dry laugh. Better than Mab’s, I suppose.

  “Are you Spring?”

  His brow wrinkled. Shoulders that had been relaxed before were rigid.