Finally, I emerge from the darkness and see the four of them huddling near the gate. Horatia and Galenia are hugging Penn while Webber stands alone off to the side.
As I make my way toward them, I spot an errant demon out of the corner of my eye. He’s rushing at them with wild eyes. Webber sees him first and runs out of the gate without looking back. Galenia sees him next, but she can’t do anything because she’s mid-hug with Penn. Stepping out in front of them, Horatia holds out her hands to stop him.
“Stop, demon,” I say authoritatively. I must still be running on adrenaline from my encounter with the Hunter, because I sure don’t feel as powerful as I sound.
He screeches to a halt, close enough to touch Horatia. Her lip is curled against the scent of his rotting flesh, but she doesn’t move even an inch.
“How dare you attempt to lay hands on a Reaper,” I say, surprising myself by how confident I sound. “We’re just finishing a tour. It shouldn’t surprise you that we would seek to comfort each other after seeing the horrors in your home,” I say, shocked by how easily the lies roll off my tongue. I shouldn’t be able to lie. Heavenly beings can’t do it. Perhaps the rules are different here in hell. Or perhaps I’ve lost a part of myself to the darkness. I don’t get much time to dwell on it before the demon is firing back at me.
“That’s a lie and you know it, Reaper,” he snarls at me. I resist the urge to cringe away from him.
“Do not try to manipulate me. You’re wasting my precious time. Be gone,” I command.
He hesitates, and it’s enough for me to realize that I can win this fight. He backs up automatically as I take several steps toward him. “Don’t make me tell you again,” I insist.
“But there’s been an escape. I’m afraid I must keep you here.” Although his voice is still shrill, it’s lost its menacing quality. It’s now disgustingly humble. Almost sniveling. Almost apologetic.
“Demons do not command me,” I say, advancing on him further, totally unsure of what I will do if he stops backing up and I actually reach him.
“But… my superiors. We’ve been instructed not to let anyone come or go.”
“That is not my concern. It seems to me you have a serious management problem here in hell. I’m sure my superior will be very interested to hear that.” I stand straight and firm, challenging him to test me.
“No. Please. Just go. I’ll say there was no one here. Just go,” he says, continuing to back up.
“You first,” I say. He does a strange little half bow, revealing his tiny, black wings, and turns to run back the way he came.
The group collectively exhales, and they rush over to me, all of them speaking at once as they hug me and clap me on the back.
Finally, Penn’s voice breaks through. “How did you escape?”
“That’s a story for another time,” I say, looking at the other Fates. “Go. You must get Webber home. Penn and I will meet up with you as soon as we can.”
Horatia hesitates. “As far as I’m concerned, Webber can take care of himself. I want to stay with you.”
Galenia glances at us, and then over her shoulder toward the gate.
Penn wraps his arms around their shoulders. “I want you to go home. I don’t want to worry about you in the depths of hell anymore. There are demons swarming everywhere. Go home—make sure Webber is okay. And cover for us if we take too long. I need you in heaven now. I promise that we’ll see you again soon.”
The girls hold back tears as the three Fates embrace. I dab the moisture away from my own eyes and glance around, checking for more wandering demons.
“I don’t want to rush you, but you should go if you’re going to leave. We can’t linger here any longer,” I say.
Galenia and Horatia look at me and make their approach. “Thank you, Michaela,” Galenia says. “We both knew you were an amazing soul, but this journey has shown us just how much. You’re like a sister to us. Be sure and come back.”
“You have some precious cargo with you,” Horatia says as she nods at Penn. He smiles in return. “You don’t have much time left, half the night is gone. So please hurry home.”
My only response is to hug them both. “Good luck,” I say as they walk back through the gate, leaving Penn and me alone in hell.
15
By the time we make our way back into the outskirts of hell, the demons are crawling everywhere. There’s no way we’re going to get to the prison without being seen.
We backtrack, debating what to do. There’s only one way in and out of the prison, but there are a few different paths leading to it. We hide in the shadows of a large rock as a demon rushes past us, moving too fast to notice.
“We’re close to a tunnel that might get us there,” I whisper, thinking out loud.
“How?” Penn asks, looking around at the stone walls that loom all around us.
“It’s deeper underground. It’s almost like a sewer drain on Earth. But it’s not for sewage. To be honest, I don’t know why it’s there.”
Penn looks at me, a wary expression on his face. “Where does the sewer drain lead?”
“I think it pops out near the entrance to the prison. If I’m remembering correctly. It’s been a while since I studied the maps during my training, but I remember seeing a grate near the prison door.”
“This from the Reaper who got us lost trying to find Webber,” he says, needling me.
“You got any better ideas, hotshot?” I ask, grateful to have him with me to keep my mood light.
“No, but I wish I did. I’d rather not trudge through some unknown sewer in the depths of hell. But hey, since we’re already here, why not?” he adds with a smirk.
I smile back and nod. “Let’s go.” The opening to the tunnel is down the corridor and around a few turns. We have to do some fancy maneuvering to avoid being seen, and I know if we don’t get below deck, we’ll be discovered sooner rather than later.
Finally, we’re within striking range of the opening. We wait for a lull in the flow of demons and then dart over to it. I crouch down to open the iron grate on the floor. It’s not as heavy as I anticipated, and it jolts open and nearly bounces back down before I manage to catch it.
The darkness under it is all consuming, but we’ll have to worry about light later.
Or not. Penn grabs a torch off the wall while I frantically try to prop open the grate. I take one last look left and right before slipping down into the darkness. He follows me and pulls the grate down behind him. I can only hope that the clang is obscured by the commotion of the demons as they rush around, searching for the escaped soul.
I push Penn away from the opening in the low ceiling as a pair of demons passes over the top of us. Thankfully, they’re too absorbed in their task to notice us.
“Did you hear about the Hunter?” one says. Its jagged voice echoes slightly in the tunnel.
“Yes. This is obviously not an average soul that’s escaped.”
“It wasn’t a soul that eliminated the Hunter.”
Eliminated? I think. So the ghosts overcame him. I smile to myself, feeling pride in those lost souls who came to my rescue.
“Like I said, this isn’t an average soul. Obviously, the Reapers want him for something.”
“I heard he was a Reaper.”
“What? No. That can’t be right. A Reaper would never be trapped down here. Maybe it’s just a soul one of the Reapers misplaced. But once a soul’s in here, he belongs to us.”
They’re walking away, so the response is hard to make out, but I do hear the last part. “They’ll all pay for their mistake.”
The dark promise is enough to give me a chill in this hot, fiery place. But we’re committed to our cause now, so Penn and I just exchange a look and start walking toward the prison.
Our footsteps seem to echo off the close walls, and we walk slowly, cautiously, through the darkness to try to lessen the sound. The red glow is disconcerting, and we can’t see more than a few feet in front of us. We don’t
speak as we follow the tunnel.
Unexpectedly, it forks off, and we’re forced to make a decision about where we need to go. Rather than guess, I backtrack to the last place we spotted a grate. Penn agrees to hoist me up so I can get an idea of where we are.
After resting the red torch against the wall, he makes a cradle for my foot with his hand. Just as he hoists me over his head, I spot huge, glowing red eyes in the distance behind him, down the center fork.
“Penn,” I whisper, fear making my voice ragged.
“What?”
I hastily climb down and point. He turns, grabs the torch and my hand, and we run full speed down the left fork. There is no sound of the creature. No wind from its breath. Nothing. So I chance a glance over my shoulder. Those glowing eyes are the same distance from us as they were before. They’re definitely following us.
“The eyes of hell. They’ll know we’re here. We have to blind them,” I say.
“The eyes of hell? I didn’t see anything about that in the Keeper’s literature.”
“Must’ve missed that section. They help the Hunters find any escapees. They’re stationed at intervals throughout hell, and they record what they see for the demons. Apparently, we found one.”
“Great,” he says as we run. “How do we blind it?”
There is so much fire in hell—the eyes themselves resemble twin flames—so the answer seems inevitable. “We need water.”
We pass under another grate, and the demons are scrambling above our heads. “They’re in the tunnels,” I hear one of them shout.
“The tears of the damned,” I say, barely above a whisper, fearing the words even as I say them. I know all too well what I’m calling down on us.
The tears are a last-resort weapon created for the Reapers, although I’m sure they’ve never been used before. We all know how to execute them in theory. If a Reaper gets into big trouble in hell, and this certainly qualifies, the tears can be summoned one time, and one time only, to extinguish all nearby flames. The flames that live within the demons are also susceptible to the tears, which is why they are such a dangerous weapon. But I have trouble sympathizing with the demons that are currently hunting us.
The tears are a sign that we are never alone or forgotten. Even in the depths of hell.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I hear the roaring.
“What did you do?” Penn asks.
“I may have just drowned us in an effort to save us.”
“Can we drown?” Penn asks. I honestly don’t know, but I’m not willing to risk it. As the water comes rushing toward us, we both instinctively run. I see a small crevice in the wall and duck into it, pulling Penn in beside me. With any luck, the speed of the water rushing by us will be enough to keep us safe from it. The space is just wide enough for us to wedge into it sideways. Even my head is turned, so I can watch the wall of water pass us. It would be strangely beautiful if the sound wasn’t so terrifying, and I didn’t know that the water had been borne of the suffering in hell.
As the water slows down, I start to worry this will be our doom. It seeps into our crevice quickly, but it never gets very deep. Most of it has washed away.
But our gratitude is temporary. Demons drop down from the grate nearest us and begin to search the tunnel.
“Find them,” a deep voice says, and we hear several sets of footsteps going off in all directions.
Penn’s torch is gone, lost to the wave of water. We don’t speak to each other, for fear of drawing attention to ourselves. All we can do is wait.
It seems like an eternity in the tunnel, but it probably isn’t more than a few moments. We’re both anxious to move on, collect the souls, and get the hell out of hell.
The demons finally split up to search for us, but they leave one behind to patrol the tunnel, and he takes the torch with him.
At first, he stays close to us—pacing back and forth, looking all over—but we pull back into the crevice until we’re crammed shoulder to shoulder, as far out of sight as possible.
To my relief, the demon finally wanders far enough down the tunnel that we can sneak out of our spot and continue down the path. The demon’s not trying to be quiet as he paces back and forth, splashing in the puddles left behind by the tears, and his sounds cover ours as we sneak out of our safe haven. We take deliberate steps, as fast as we can go, but we’re not flat-out running. The last thing we want to do is attract the notice of any more demons.
Without the light of the torch, our progress forward is difficult. We stick to the walls, feeling our way along. But I have no idea where we are at this point. In our frantic dash to get away from the wall of water, I lost track of our position. I need to get out and reassess.
Penn realizes the same thing, and we stop wordlessly below the next grate we reach. We both know this could be suicide. The second I pop my head up, anyone who’s in the corridor will see me. But I can think of no other or better solution. We can’t wander the dark tunnel forever. Eventually, we have to go topside. Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.
Penn cradles his hands for me yet again. Before I put my foot into them, I look over his shoulder for the eyes that started this whole misstep. But there’s nothing but darkness all around us. The only light comes from the grate.
He hoists me up carefully, so as not to hit my head on the grate. Before I push it open, I take a moment to listen for any noise. It’s oddly quiet. I strain to see something through the grate, but the only thing I can see well is the ceiling above the grate.
I carefully push the grate open enough to peer out. It’s an empty hallway. I’m relieved, but at the same time, I was hoping for some markings, something to give an indication of where we are. As I shove the grate all the way open, Penn launches me through it.
Now we’re faced with a different problem. How am I going to get Penn out? Demons all have wings and can fly in and out of places like this, so there’s no easy way out. The grate is too small to use as a ladder. If I lay flat, he can reach up and grab my arms, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to pull him out.
An idea suddenly occurs to me, and I grab the grate and drag it away from the hole. Then I stretch out on my stomach and muscle the grate over my legs, hoping the added weight will be enough to anchor the two of us. The grate is pressing down on my legs hard, cutting off circulation to my feet, but this just might work.
I reach down into the hole, praying no demons come across us in such a vulnerable situation.
“But,” Penn protests.
“I don’t have any better ideas. Just try it. If you pull me in there with you, we’ll try something else.”
Nodding, he hesitantly reaches for me. He just barely manages to reach the tips of my fingers, so he jumps up a little to give himself some leverage. It works great until he comes back down and jerks hard on my hands.
I slip toward him, but the grate digs my knees into the stone, ripping my dress as it goes. It holds, and I don’t go over. I bite my lip to prevent myself from screaming out in pain.
“Sorry,” he sheepishly says.
“Just get out of that hole.” I say through gritted teeth.
Penn tries to swing himself up, but the hole isn’t big enough for him to get a grip with his feet on the other side. Instead, he ends up hitting the top of the tunnel with his butt.
“Nice payback,” he says, grimacing.
I can’t help but smile through my pain. My arms and legs are on fire, and my knees feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder. I’m ready to move on, but he’s still hanging from my hands, no further along than he was before.
Finally, he transfers all his weight to one of my arms. “You’re going to dislocate my arm,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Not if I can do this quickly.”
Grabbing at him with my free hand, I try to relieve some of the weight. I don’t really succeed, but it feels better to be doing something. He climbs up my arm hand over hand, like I’m some kind of rope. When he g
ets to my shoulder, he grabs the edge of the hole and hoists himself out, relieving me entirely of his weight. He settles down on his back next to my legs and pushes the heavy grate off me. I roll toward him, so we’re both staring up at the stone ceiling.
“Awfully quiet back here. Where are we?”
I drape my arm over my eyes. “I don’t know. Right now, I really don’t care.” I’m visualizing that peaceful garden God took me to. I would do almost anything to be back there. But then I think about God’s ocean of tears, and I remember what I’m doing in hell in the first place.
Sighing, I sit up and assess the damage to my knees. Blood seeps out of the road burn left by the stone floor. Blowing on them, I try to relieve some of the stinging. I pull my dress away from them, hoping it doesn’t dry to the blood and stick. Something from the corner of my eye captures my attention as I do this, something that reminds me of who stands with us.
This isn’t just any unmarked, unoccupied corridor of hell.
Penn follows my gaze. “The prison.”
16
The door is barely perceptible, save for the symbol carved into the stone and a light outline. Though we still have the hardest part of our mission ahead of us—getting those poor captured souls out—I know beyond a shadow of a doubt we’re in the right place, and it feels like a win.
“How did you get inside?” Penn asks.
I shrug. “It wasn’t locked when I was here. I just pushed the door open.”
Penn hesitantly holds his hand out to the door as I scan the area for demons. When I look back, he’s still holding his hand just shy of the stone.
“What are you waiting for?” I whisper.
“What’s beyond this door is my personal hell. I know that. Seeing the suffering of Kismet and Andrew and the other souls I’ve spun. I… I intended so much more for them. Once I open this door, it’ll all become real… Frankly, now that I’m here, I don’t really want to go inside.”
The Children of Wisdom Trilogy Page 29