Not Your Average Hot Guy

by Gwenda Bond

  He takes in the lance with fascination, but keeps his distance. Smarter than me, but I knew that already.

  “All this,” Callie says. “I tried to stop the fire and brimstone, but it’s not working. Why?”

  Porsoth gives one of his standard owlish blinks. “Who gave the command initially?”

  “Solomon Elerion, obviously.” She wipes away more sweat from her forehead with the back of the hand not clutching the holy weapon. “We managed to take the lance away from him, but it doesn’t seem to want to listen to me.”

  “He’s still alive?” Porsoth asks.

  “Yes.” Callie swallows. I can tell she doesn’t like where this is going.

  “There should be two ways to stop the command,” Porsoth says, going into teacher mode. “Either the person who gave it must perish…” When he sees Callie’s horrified expression, he says, “No one could argue that the sniveling worm doesn’t deserve it. We have a fine accommodation waiting for him in Hell after this…” He searches for a word.

  “Cluster-o-pocalypse of epic proportions?” I say.

  “That is not a word,” he says.

  “Or,” Callie prompts. “What’s option two?”

  “Or,” Porsoth says, “the Holy Lance can be destroyed. Now that it’s reunified, it should be possible.”

  “How?” Callie asks. “And what happens if we do?”

  Porsoth shrugs. “That I don’t know. No one ever set forth a method in any text that I’ve seen or detailed the consequences.”

  “Great.” She sounds ready to scream. “Why can’t anything be easy?” She turned her phone back on en route. Now it buzzes and she checks it. I glimpse some unopened texts from her mother. A lot of them. “Mag says Solomon’s awake. We have to get back. Thanks, Porsoth.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Porsoth says.

  We both stop. Fire and brimstone continue to rain down around us. The armies of darkness and light are mixing it up a bit in the air and on the ground here and there.

  “You are?” I ask.

  “This is no place for a dog, is it, Bosch?” he asks Bosch.

  He has a point.

  Bosch doesn’t look exactly zen about being out here, even under Porsoth’s protection.

  Callie says, “Come on.” She stops for a second and peers between me and Porsoth. Then, “The lance. Luke held it, and it hurt him. Is he going to be all right?”

  Porsoth studies me with concern. “And you survived?”

  There’s no point in lying. “Barely.”

  “Interesting … I presume so,” he says to Callie. “I have no real way to know.”

  “Try again,” she says.

  I’m confused, but Porsoth takes her meaning. “It’s likely he’s going to be just fine.”

  “Better,” Callie says and I want to hold her to me and keep her safe forever.

  To be honest, I want to anyway.

  But we don’t have time. No, we have to get back to the Great Escape to prevent a not-so-great escape and to face another existential moral quandary. All this big meaning-of-life, saving-the-world business is exhausting. The lazier version of me had some things going for him.

  Porsoth sweeps out a wing and effortlessly enlarges the pocket of shadow I made. Off we go, Callie’s faithful hound back by her side.

  The obvious answer to our current dilemma is that I take out Solomon Elerion and harvest his putrid soul. Father won’t give me credit for it, but no one has ever deserved eternal damnation more.

  Still, I’ve never had to get my hands dirty, not in that way. But the lance’s reaction to me seems to confirm I’m made for the task. After all, one way or another, I’m going to see Solomon Elerion in Hell. And I’m going to disappoint everyone, like always.

  This time, I fear I may also disappoint myself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CALLIE

  Bosch trots ahead to the edge of the shadow umbrella, and I can’t help but shake my head. I’d have expected her to hide from all this. Turns out she’s as good at rolling with the bizarre punches as the rest of us. She’s careful not to stick her feet or nose out into the raining fire.

  Shelter dogs know how to survive anything, even the apocalypse.

  Luke and Porsoth’s covering keeps us from inhaling the smoke clouding the air. The reek of rotten eggs is as strong here as anywhere we went in Hell. I’m sweaty and gross and have no idea what to do about Solomon Elerion.

  But I have the Holy Lance and I got my dog back, so the mission wasn’t a complete loss.

  The front door of the Great Escape emerges in front of us through the smoke. Jared’s hand-me-down car is in fact still parked in front. We could’ve driven over? Why didn’t we think of that? Distracted by burning flame falling from the sky, I guess. Too late now.

  Jared lunges forward to open the door and hustles us inside.

  The spear in my hands is supposed to be all-powerful, and yet it can’t do what I want right now. It can’t make this stop, protect all these people. Protect all the other people.

  At least, not so far.

  The only comfort is even I can’t blame myself for not being prepared. This is not a test I could’ve studied for.

  As soon as Bosch’s paws hit the lobby floor, she groans and sinks to her belly. This despite the noise of Solomon and his followers, busy shouting and banging against the door from inside Tesla’s Laboratory. But still trapped.

  I’d feel relieved about that, except for Jared’s and Mag’s panicked expressions.

  “That bad?” I ask.

  I need time to think about what the right course of action is. I also know there isn’t much to waste.

  But I don’t like either of Porsoth’s options.

  “Our doors aren’t made to hold in people actively trying to break them down,” Jared says. He lowers his voice. “But we have another problem. I forgot to pick up the keys.”

  “Only a matter of time until he realizes they’re there,” Mag says.

  Crap. The keys work on both sides of the entry door.

  Luke positions himself dead in front of me, forcing me to look him in the eyes. Problem is, I want to. When Mag called Luke moony, it was true. But no truer than it would be about me.

  I care about him. That is as scary as anything else.

  “Callie,” Luke says, “I could take care of him.”

  I’ve been waiting for this. As soon as Porsoth gave the option, I knew Luke would volunteer. That he’d press for this.

  The idea doesn’t feel right.

  “Or I,” Porsoth protests. “It would be but a trifle.”

  “It should be me,” Luke says, resolved. “I botched the summoning. I should’ve taken their souls then and there. This is the right thing.”

  “No,” I say. “There’s got to be another way.”

  As expected, Luke argues. “Even if we manage to destroy the lance, Solomon will still be around. He’s going to be trouble, no matter what.”

  “You don’t kill people because they’re trouble!” I shouldn’t have shouted it, but I’m a little lost right now. What if he’s right even though I’m sure it’s wrong? What if promising to give up my soul means I’m not one to be telling the difference these days, and this powerful artifact in my hands is going to end up misused?

  What if Luke takes out Solomon and we all regret it forever?

  “You don’t,” Luke says, softly, coming in close. “Where I’m from, things are a little less savory. You know that.”

  “Where you’re from is not where I’m from.”

  “Yes, I know,” Luke says.

  I need to process things the way I would normally, the way I do here, where I’m from. By talking to Mag.

  “Can I borrow you?” I ask Mag.

  “Always,” Mag says without hesitation. I walk toward the hallway.

  “Wait!” Luke holds up a hand. “Where are you going? We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

  I pause. “The control room. I just want to talk
to Mag in private—we’ll be right back.”

  Jared interrupts. “It’s their thing.”

  “Yes, talking to each other is our thing. A friend thing,” I say. “It’s how I decide things.”

  I loop my arm through Mag’s, keeping the lance in my other hand, and we head toward the stairs. From up there, we can talk and I can keep an eye on Solomon via the cameras at the same time.

  “Porsoth is in charge,” I toss over a shoulder.

  Luke and Jared exchange affronted glances. Normally, I’d laugh. But the part of me where laughter usually lives is hollow.

  Mag is wise. We’ve figured out many things together. We can figure out this.

  The door to the control room hangs open.

  “I have an idea,” Mag says.

  See? Productive already.

  They slide into the chair at the first computer workstation and click through until the screen for the room our bad guys is in comes up. They type into the box and then grin at me.

  I go over and lean in to see. Mag has typed Face it, beak-faces, you’re trapped into the monitor. The words will show on the screen in the corner of the room.

  I snort and nudge them over so I can type next. “Grim wars, not grimoires … No, wait, got it.”

  I type: Cult Leader? More like Cult Loser.

  We both laugh. I thought that was impossible. There is still one piece of light in this darkness. I relax into this little moment and it’s like breathing air that counters everything nasty we traveled through to get back here.

  But I know it can’t last. It doesn’t.

  The bad guys have stopped looking at the screen and gone back to pounding at the door and searching for things to use to break out.

  “It can’t take much longer for them to get through,” Mag says. “What did you want to talk about?”

  I pull up the chair next to them. “I know. We got some answers from Porsoth, but…” I lay my head on the desk beside the computer, crosswise on my arms. I wish I had time to cry. Or scream. But I don’t.

  “Here’s the problem,” I say. “To stop Solomon’s command we either have to kill him or destroy the lance.”

  Mag takes a second with it. “To get rid of it, how do you do that?”

  “That’s the other thing. We don’t know how to do that. Or if it would trigger something just as bad.”

  Mag says nothing.

  “But even if we decided to destroy it and figured out how, Solomon is still going to be a problem.” I sigh. “You heard Luke offer to take care of him. What do you think I should do?”

  Mag mulls it. “It’s a solution, but a crappy one.”

  On the monitor, the cultists have broken a chair and are using it to bash through the wooden door. From the hall camera, we can see they’ve made a hole, and an arm comes through. Bosch barks angrily as Porsoth pulls her back.

  “Any other ideas?” I try.

  “Is there a way to work around the rules?” Mag asks. “Make new ones? You know, a puzzle, like when—”

  “We make a new room.” An interesting thought. There should be a work-around. We always make more than one pathway to the solution.

  On camera, Porsoth and Luke exchange a look like they’re about to go on and deal with the situation.

  “I’ll figure it out,” I say, hoping it’s true. “Down there.”

  And we’re both up and moving. I can’t help wondering if that’s the last time I’m ever going to laugh with my best friend.

  * * *

  When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Luke and Jared are working to prevent the cult coming through. But the hole in the door is getting bigger. Porsoth is dancing around, keeping Bosch out of the way.

  “Ow!” Luke gets a smashed hand for his trouble as another blow comes. I keep forgetting he can still be hurt by Solomon and his followers. Another point against his taking care of this.

  There has to be some way … Think, Callie, think …

  Porsoth’s wings flap when he spots us. “Did you make a decision? Let me end this now.”

  “I told you,” Luke says, his shoulder against the door. “It should be me.”

  I don’t know if Porsoth is capable of ending a life. I suspect he is. But Luke …

  “I don’t think you can do it,” I say.

  He doesn’t respond for a long moment, continuing to hold his position as the cultists jostle from the other side. Finally, he looks at me over his shoulder. “What choice do we have?”

  What choice do we have?

  I grip the Holy Lance.

  The door bursts outward and Solomon Elerion heaves through it. “I’ll be taking that back now,” he says.

  He’s followed by his band of robe-wearing true believers.

  We’re outnumbered. But we have the Holy Lance and two demons.

  Jared and Mag get behind me as I hold out the lance to ward him off. Luke and Porsoth flank me.

  Us against them.

  “You don’t even know how to use it,” Solomon says. “Or you’d have killed me already. Look out there, at that beautiful world ending. Let me finish it.”

  “Please,” Luke says. “Let me finish him.”

  “Not yet.” I keep searching for an alternative. There’s got to be something. I consider trying to just break the lance, but if it wasn’t destroyed by being separated in two that’s not going to work. Destroying it might not even be the right call.

  Why did Good make things so complicated?

  Solomon lunges forward. As Luke moves to block him, I realize that’s exactly what Solomon wanted. He backs up, holding Luke by the throat.

  “Callie.” Luke forces it out. “Let me.”

  But … he wants me to save him. Whether he understands it or not. If Luke really wanted to take out Solomon, he’d have done it. I’ve been around him long enough to know that he doesn’t do or not do anything because someone tells him to.

  There must be another way …

  Then bless my random fact-holding brain, it gives me something to run with.

  “Dante,” I say.

  “What about him?” Jared asks.

  “Hold that thought.” When we were in Hell, Porsoth said it offhand, that Dante did time as a donkey. That he was lucky they turned him back. There’s that old story from Greek mythology about Circe turning Odysseus and his men into swine when they visited her island.

  The princess and the frog.

  Maybe I can take Solomon Elerion out of the equation. Assuming I can get the lance to work.

  I search for the right association—what kind of animal is related to devil stuff?

  I’ve got it.

  I close my eyes and concentrate and the light of the lance floods through me and there’s a flare of power so bright I hear everyone around me react with gasps.

  Now to see if it worked.

  I open my eyes and …

  It did.

  Luke’s now standing beside a small, adorable, four-hooved, black-and-white-splotched—

  “Is that a pygmy goat?” Luke asks. “You turned him into a pygmy goat?”

  “Goats are Satanic symbols,” I say, defensively. “So it seemed appropriate. But I wanted him to be manageable size-wise.”

  Luke beams at me. I can’t help feeling proud.

  The rest of the cult members are thrown, it’s obvious. I grin at them. “Who’s next?” I ask.

  “No,” one of them says. “No.” They’re flooding out the door, out into the sulfur smog, abandoning their leader just like that.

  “You are a genius,” Luke says. “Of some kind.”

  “Could’ve told you that,” Mag says.

  “It was Porsoth mentioning Dante when we were on the way to Lilith’s that gave me the idea,” I explain.

  Porsoth basks. “Me? I inspired you? Well.”

  The little goat shakes and tests its feet, skidding a little at first on our slick flooring.

  “He’s so cute now,” Mag says. “I can’t deal with this.”

  T
he pygmy goat chooses that moment to prove that he’s also definitely still Solomon in there, as he rushes forward and tries to headbutt Bosch. I step into his path and he falls over.

  “He’s a fainting pygmy goat,” I say.

  “Is that even a thing?” Mag asks.

  “Don’t know,” I say. “Is now.”

  “We do still have a larger problem,” Jared points out, meaning he literally points outside. Where it’s still fire and brimstone city.

  Right, Solomon’s still Solomon in there. He still exists.

  “You’ve made him easier to do away with,” Porsoth says. “We can stop this now.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say. “But not the way you mean.”

  I grip the lance and more light floods through me. “I rename this goat Cupcake, and declare him a friend to all living creatures.”

  Bosch goes over and gives the fainted pygmy goat a sniff like the good girl she is. I walk over and scratch behind my dog’s ears.

  The goat wakes, staring up at Bosch, and then climbs to his adorable feet and nuzzles against Bosch. Who allows it.

  “No more Solomon Elerion. Only Cupcake.” The full scope of what I’ve done hits me and takes the shine off my triumph. “Wait—was this actually good or is wiping someone out of existence wrong?”

  “For Solomon, it’s a major upgrade,” Luke reassures me as we watch Cupcake and Bosch become fast besties.

  Porsoth tilts his head. “You got him out of damnation later, so on balance you did him a favor.”

  Mag nods in agreement. “That was some rules hack.”

  “Good job, sis,” Jared says.

  Outside, the fire and brimstone have stopped, leaving only clear air. It was a onetime thing, and no one had to kill anyone. Not really. I remind myself I promised Luke my soul anyway. So if it was wrong, I’ll be punished.

  Not that people should do right just to avoid punishment. But guilty twinge or no twinge, I’m going with my friends on this one.

  I’m counting it as a victory.

  Luke strides over to the door. “We do still have a problem,” he says with regret. “Two armies are still about to collide in a final battle.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LUKE