by Edward Lee
He had no way of knowing if Venetia Barlow had received his latest communication. The Hex Fluxes seemed to spike whenever he engaged the Vox, and he knew what that likely meant: Someone's onto us.
The Boniface District shimmered all around him, the scarlet hue of the blood bricks so intense it seemed luminous. Even the municipal workers-Imps, mostly-wore blood-drenched overalls to keep with the District's theme. Alexander sat at a carriage stop across the street from the No Seasons Hotel, whose upscale infernal restaurant-The Alferd Packer Room-was thought to be the very best in Hell. Ruth-dressed in the pricey Tongue-Skirt and Hand-Bra-had been hired within a minute of speaking to the Demonic floor manager. Alexander peered through the glass, half-fretting. Now if she can only manage to not get fired before Aldezhor arrives ... He'd already seen too many examples of her bad temper and firecracker attitude.
He decided to wait a while longer before he went in himself; he figured he'd get a seat at the cocktail bar to keep an eye on her. Just be careful, he reminded himself. Grand Duke Aldezhor always has a Bio-Wizard with him. These practiced occult scientists could often sniff out anti-Satanic detractors by reading their auras. And Ruth better not blow it, either...
He took another peek into the restaurant and he saw Ruth competently taking orders at a table full of knotfaced Viceroys from one of the Torturian Brigades. Wow, he couldn't help but acknowledge. Her boobs fill out that Hand-Bra perfectly. The Viceroys, too, couldn't keep their rheumy eyes off her full-tilt body. Every so often the large severed Werewolf hands that comprised the bra-cups gave her breasts a squeeze, while the "fabric" of her TongueSkirt slowly quivered over her hips and buttocks, still alive.
The priest cocked a smile. I'll bet that's driving her batty.
With some time to kill, he took a stroll, almost having to shield his eyes against the District's glistening blood bricks-every road, sidewalk, and building was made of them. He'd heard that the blood bricks were enspelled to make them stronger against enemy sorcery. At the end of the street, he could see one of the foundries where the blood was distilled down to paste and poured into molds. Diabolical, the priest thought.
An extraordinary crush of aromas and odors hung in the street like gas. Alexander was long since acclimated; the District's main square was the restaurant hub, where only the most posh denizens of the city could afford to eat. Each street was lined with one noxious eatery after another. He stopped at a bistro where something smelled too good to pass up. "What's that, waiter?" he inquired of a bow-tied Demon bearing a tray of steaming plates. "I might have to order some."
"It's poached Goregator Bowel, sir," the waiter responded.
On second thought ...
A shapely Demonness passed out fliers at the comer. She had slanted eyes and skin like the hide of a horned toad. Scaly fingers passed a flier to Alexander.
"Come ' to our grand opening, Father," she invited through an oriental accent. "Cockroach Gardens at Ninth Street and Emesis Avenue. Free order of Leg Rolls when you buy the special."
"What's the special?"
"Moo Goo Gai Puke."
"I'll ... think about it," Alexander said and strode off. He didn't even want to think what his fortune cookie might say.
He made the round of Thrombosis Circle; then his stout, corded Usher legs stopped. There he is.
Valets with festering faces rushed from the No Season's portico to open the doors of a fancy steam car whose convertible top was fashioned by Human skin set with onyx stones.
Then a shadow shaped like a man-a man with horns-stepped out of the backseat.
Aldezhor. The Grand Messenger of Hell.
Instead of tipping cash, the Grand Duke tipped the valets with severed feet. Then the ink black shape entered the restaurant, with a jewel-cloaked Bio-Wizard behind him.
Alexander slipped to the front window, wide-eyed. Come on, Ruth. Don't screw this up. If you don't get his table ... we're finished.
Oh, no, oh, no, Ruth thought, butterflies in her belly. That's the guy... .
The dining room became hushed when Grand Duke Aldezhor was taken to his corner table by a vampiric hostess.
Ruth had just pinned up a double order for Kidney Satay and Ghoul Marrow Stew when she noticed the Grand Duke's entrance.
Here goes ...
"I'm taking Aldezhor's table," she asserted to her floormate, a saucy Hybrid with eyes like swamp scum. Her yellow skin had been creatively scarred with rows and rows of fanged Smiley Faces. She dumped some garbage into a grinder-chute that sounded like a tree mulcher when the leftovers hit the blades.
"You can kiss my Demon ass," the Hybrid flared. "Ain't no fuckin' way you get to wait on Aldezhor, motherfucker. You're the new girl, so you can fuck off."
Ruth froze at the retort. She even took a step back when the Hybrid smiled through surgically implanted Griffin talons where her teeth used to be.
Heart pattering, Ruth folded; she lost all her spark in a second or two. "Please. Can I have his table? Um-heyI'll even pay you if you let me."
A slimy seven-fingered hand shoved Ruth by the face out of the server station.
"Big fake-tit blond bubblehead thinks she's gonna fuckin take my table when she hasn't even fuckin' worked here for a half a fuckin' hour?" The Hybrid laughed, blowing black spittle. "Silly bitch-yeah, you walk in here wearing a Tongue-Skirt and Hand-Bra like you're all that but you ain't nothin' but a motherfuckin' lowlife guttercrawling motherfucker."
Ruth was appalled. I don't believe it. This chick's got worse language than me....
"Don't like it? Do something about it," the Hybrid challenged, and pointed a yellow finger right in Ruth's face.
Ruth didn't like it. "Get your finger out of my face or I'll bite it off."
The Hybrid gusted another obnoxious laugh. "You fuckin' dumb blond motherfuckin' bitch. I'll pop your fake tits and mop the Dumpster with your prissy face. Oh, and by the way, your mother's so dumb the last time she tried to rob a bank she blew the guard and tied up the safe," and then she jabbed her finger again.
Ruth bit the finger off and in one synchronous move ment, yanked open the grinder chute, shoved the Hybrid in, and closed the door.
The blades whined.
Ruth spat the finger out. Like I said, I'm taking Aldezhor's table....
Just about every male patron in the restaurant paused to admire Ruth's apparel, but like the professional she was, she ignored their comments-and even their offers to tip her-and rushed to Aldezhor's place. Set in the middle of the table was a petrified hand holding a card: RESERVED.
"Hello, Grand Duke. My name is Ruth, and I'm privileged to be your server today," Ruth said.
"What a comely tramp, my lord." The Chevalier at the Grand Duke's side smiled. He was from Lucifer's personal Cryptographic Unit, and was charged with handdelivering Hell's most crucial operational messages. The Chevalier's skull was segmented, for all in his class were head-banded during infancy. "And so unworn for an infernal whore," he added.
Ruth ground her teeth.
The shadowy face of Aldezhor appraised her. "Indeed, Chevalier. Her harlot's body looks as fresh as though she'd stepped off the streets of the Living World a moment ago."
Close, she thought, forcing a smile. In the lobby, she noticed Alexander enter the lounge.
He looked a little nervous.
The Chevalier laughed. "Fresh, my lord, yes, but remember how deceiving are the looks of such immoral Human trash. Why, I'd wager the loins of a thousand men have been emptied into her privates."
"More like ten thousand, and for pennies per service," Aldezhor said, joining in the revelry.
Ruth wanted to upend the table and do a dance on their faces but when her eyes flicked to Alexander, who now sat at the bar, he very slowly shook his head no.
Don't blow a gasket, she ordered herself. Don't let these two scumbags rock your boat.
"Why, Grand Duke Aldezhor," she remarked, giggling. "You're as witty as you are handsome."
"No one gave you permission to converse with
the Grand Duke!" snapped the Chevalier. "Now bring us a bottle of your best Chyme-vintage--and don't tarry unless you want to be skinned and packed in a salt box for time immemorial!"
"Of course, Chevalier." She smiled, thinking, Jesus. She went to the bar for the drink order, and didn't look at Alexander when she complained, "Man, those fuckin' guys are busting my chops so hard, I don't think I can keep my cool."
"You better," the priest whispered over a shot of creek water on the rocks, "because if you don't, being skinned and packed in a salt box will be the least of your worries."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"And watch out for Bio-Wizard."
"Who?"
"The guy in the cloak watching over Aldezhor. He's scanning for hostile auras. Remember the Prism-Veil in Rot-Port? Same sort of thing only that guy's ten times more sensitive."
"Fuck...'
"Remember your mission. The note. You must see the note."
Shit, I almost forgot. "All right, I'll do my best."
With the tip of the Annelok tentacle, Alexander had slipped something out of his shirt: that ugly little pouch on a cord.
"The goodie bag. What's it for?"
"In case this doesn't go well." He looked quickly over his shoulder at Aldezhor's table. "And keep your voice down." Another nervous glance at the barkeep, who looked suspiciously similar to John F. Kennedy. "Don't speak directly to me. You don't know me, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah. But what's in the bag?"
-Shhh!n
"Quit chatter-boxin', bitch!" the barkeep snapped in a rich Massachusetts accent, "and stop botherin' my cus tomers unless you want your guts dragged out your ears." The keep looked directly to Alexander. "Sir, is this mouthy hosebag botherin' you?"
"Oh, no, not at all." Alexander winked at him. "She was just asking me for the time."
The keep stalled, then slapped a hand on the bar, honking Bostonian laughter. "That's a good one, sir!" He set down two dirty goblets and a bottle whose label read: PINOT CHYMUS-A HEADY, ECLECTIC WINE MADE FROM TIE MOST SELECT HUMAN DUODENAL ENZYMES. "Now take this to the Grand Duke's table, you piece of big-tit blond scum. And there better not be any complaints about your service or I will personally pop your gourd."
Ruth's lower lip quivered. It's a good thing I don't have that pistol on me right now. She took the bottle to Aldezhor's table and poured them each a glass. While the Grand Duke and his Chevalier put their pinkies in the air and sipped the yellow slop, Ruth thought over what she had to do. This Chevalier asshole is going to pass a note to this Aldezhor asshole, and I'm supposed to take a glance at it.... More thoughts ticked. And I gotta be careful of this BioWizard asshole 'cos he's got some psychic jive going on that might rat me out.
Ruth wasn't used to this kind of responsibility. "Is the wine to your liking, sir?"
The Chevalier's banded head jerked up. "Yes, you detestable reservoir of carnal filth. But will you make the Grand Duke wait another eternity before you see fit to take his lunch order?"
Oh, how I would love to comb this fucker's hair with a two-byfour, Ruth mused, then smiled. "What would you like, sir?"
"What I would like is you in an iron maiden roasting nude over a coal fire-"
"But only after being stuffed with bay leaves and onions," Aldezhor added.
"And covered with a nice macadamia nut crust," the Chevalier finished. "But, lo"-he paused for effect"that's not on the menu, is it?"
He and Aldezhor tremored with laughter, along with everyone else in the dining room.
Hardee-har-har, Ruth thought. They sounded like donkeys hee-hawing. But again she sucked it up and just smiled, bearing her pen and order pad. "You gentlemen are just so funny."
"Of course we are, trollop!" the Chevalier snapped. "The Grand Duke would like the Chimichurri Gargoyle Tenderloin in Truffle Cream, and I will have the Braised Broodren Gallbladder Pie." He pointed a multijointed finger. "And be quick about it, you pitiable intercoursesoiled daughter of filth!"
The insults were wearing Ruth out, and the quivering Tongue-Skirt and frisky Hand-Bra only amplified her bad humor. "Coming right up, Chevalier." She turned to the cloaked Bio-Wizard, who stood aside from Aldezhor, still as a chess piece. "Anything for you, sir?"
Spittle shot from the Chevalier's lips. "That's a BioWizard, you brainless blond waste of space! Only the dimmest wit in Hell doesn't know that Bio-Wizards don't eat! Hare-brain! Moronic Human trash!"
These fucking guys! She wished she still had her old pickup truck so she could tie them both to the trailer hitch and go for a long drive.
Ruth curtsyed to the motionless Bio-Wizard. "My apologies, sir." But before she rushed off to place the order, she took a split-second glance into the Wizard's hood, and saw a face that was nothing but a smoking skull.
Yuck!
Aldezhor's shadow-boned finger tapped her arm. It felt like a prod of ice. "That's quite a fetching outfit, misstypically only worn by the most lauded odalisques-and I must say, your flawless body does it justice. I'll be sure to have you wait on me every time I'm here."
Finally! A compliment! "Why, thank you, Grand Duke." Though she couldn't see his eyes, she could feel them crawling up her almost nude body. Yeah. Men are all the same, even in Hell, she deduced. Just a bunch of horny assholes.
Aldezhor's words fluttered up. "May your beauty be as eternal as your Damnation."
"You have such a way with words, Grand Duke." How do you like that. The monster's got the hots for me.
Ruth rushed in the order and waited at the end of the bar, a seat down from Alexander. She tried to sluff off the ceaseless insults but just got madder. "Those guys are busting my hump," she whispered.
"I know," he whispered back. "Just grin and bear it."
Her teeth ground. "I don't think I can. They're laying it on thick, especially that pumpkinhead-looking motherfucker."
A She-Ghoul with implants bigger than Ruth's waltzed by with a tray of roasted spleens. "Newcomer scum," the monster sniped under her breath. "I see you over there sucking up to the Grand Duke, but let me tell you, there's no way he'll have anything to do with Human shit like you."
Ruth swung her fist-but Alexander's Annelok arm caught it before it could make contact.
"None of that! You're going to blow the whole deal."
Ruth just ground her teeth some more as the slim Ghoul Blinked off. Keep it cool. Keep it cool.
The priest looked disgusted with her. "And you're not paying any attention at all."
"Huh?"-
Alexander leaned right into her ear when the barkeep wasn't looking. "The Chevalier just passed Aldezhor the note! Now get over there and distract him enough so you can read it before he puts it away!"
Distract him? Ruth didn't have a clue what he meant, and creativity under pressure wasn't a strong suit. The Werewolf hands squeezed as she moved briskly to the table.
Aldezhor's hand-like a glove of compacted black gas-was holding up a small piece of parchment. "Excellent." He regarded the Chevalier. "I'll rush this over to Boniface when we're done eating." Then he began to put the note beneath his cloak.
Without forethought, Ruth slipped her bra up. She touched Aldezhor's cold shoulder just as he was about to put the parchment away.
The Chevalier's segmented face went beet red. "How dare you put your filthy prostitute hands on the Grand Duke! I'll have them cut off!"
But Aldezhor's faceless face was looking right at Ruth's bare bosom.
"Why, that's most ... impressive," he muttered.
She looked at the Chevalier. "Don't blow a gasket, sir. I just thought I'd offer the Grand Duke a lap dance while he's waiting for his lunch."
"You ridiculous impudent disgrace to all Humankind!" the Chevalier screamed. "You are lower than the lowest filth to ever exist in Hell! How dare you presume that Satan's Grand Messenger would have any desire to be in proximity to the likes of you!"
Aldezhor held up a shadowy finger. "Silence, Chevalier. The fact is I'd very much enjoy suc
h a delightful spectacle."
We're good to go, Ruth thought and got to doing what she did best: enticing men with her body. The dining room fell silent as she slowly danced around the Grand Duke, churning her hips and tracing her hands across his black chest. Even Alexander was looking on. Ruth expertly spun a leg over Aldezhor's head, simultaneously edged her butt up on the table, then shot both legs up in a V. There's an eyeful, she thought. In more synchronous movements, then, she slithered forward facing him, and sat in his lap. Jesus, this guy's colder than a snowman, she thought. Now her bare breasts were right in his incorporeal face.
Got to get a look at that note now...
She stood up, spun another leg over his head, and again sat herself in his lap, only this time with her back to him. Hands on knees, she slowly ground her buttocks into his groin.
The note lay opened right in front of her.
VII.VII, it read.
Remember that ...
When Ruth finished her dance, she turned and bowed to uproarious applause. Grand Duke Aldezhor slipped a thousand-dollar Hellnote into her waistband.
"That was marvelous," he gushed.
"Thanks for the tip, Duke. Oh-be right back. Your lunch is ready." She traipsed off, quickly grabbing her pen and writing VII.VII on her thigh-
"Harlot!" the Chevalier yelled. "In the name of Lucifer, stop right this instant!"
I guess he means me, she thought, but when she turned around, she almost fainted.
The Chevalier was aiming a sulphur pistol right at her face.
"Come forward!"
"What did I do wrong?" she said, astonished. She edged back to the table, noticing that creepy Bio-Wizard leaning over as if telling Aldezhor something.
"You re under arrest for anti-Satanic thoughts and terrorist premeditation," the Chevalier said.
"The fuck?"
Aldezhor stood up. "Conscripts! Fetch a cranial retractor at once."
The Chevalier smiled down the bead of his pistol. "Our Bio-Wizard has interpreted your psychic aura, harlot, and has discerned an act of subterfuge and treason."
"The fuck?" Ruth repeated, dismayed.
Helmeted Conscripts clattered into the room, and one handed the Bio-Wizard an iron device that looked like a closed bear trap.