City Infernal

by Edward Lee

  The incarnation was nearly complete.

  She could feel her own flesh now as the subcarnation continued to ferment. Unlike her succubic progeny, her skin was not violet—it was a fresh, blushing pink, like just-bloomed begonias, like the inside of a newborn baby’s cheek. Her sleek hands slid up, caressed her erect breasts, teased the darker, extruding nipples. She ran a long finger up the furrow of her sex, and hissed in bliss.

  She was real in the world again, but she knew her precious time here would be all too short.

  The female she’d been machinating sidled over and collapsed, leaving the male peon spread-eagled and perfectly still on the floor, his flesh white as a skinned tuber. Lilith hunched over, grinning in delight with beaming eyes.

  She pressed her hand again to the peon’s chest, felt a few slow, feeble beats.

  He was more dead now than alive—hence the incarnation’s finish—but any life at all, even an inkling, offended her.

  Her hand pressed harder....

  Yessssss ....

  Harder.

  Yessssss....

  Harder.

  Die....

  The sodden heart beat one last time, then stopped, and at the same moment her mouth opened over his and she sucked out his last breath.

  The taste of death was sweet, like warm honey.

  She stood up in the dark and stretched serenely, her bosom jutting. The clock on the wall stared back at her with its proof that the conjuration had succeeded in full: it didn’t tick, its hands didn’t move.

  She gazed out the window, drank up the vision of the star-lit night and the moon pregnant with its worldly yellow.

  Thou art fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer!

  Then the darkled seductress turned and slipped silently out of the room.

  Her illumined eyes marveled at all she saw: the mansion’s foreboding furniture, portraits, and dark wall-coverings. On the stairs she saw a wraith, which paid her no mind because it had no mind.

  Ghosts were just more of her Master’s wondrous props, and they served evil well. They’d been striking fear into the hearts of God’s paltry creatures for thousands of years.

  But they weren’t real enough for Lilith’s liking.

  The ghost—the former owner of this place—had served evil well too. Back in the Mephistopolis, his Spirit Body had been rewarded richly for his unspeakable deeds. Fenton Blackwell was a Grand Duke now, slaying mongrel offspring for eternity, while here, an incalculable distance away, his ghost remained.

  It trudged hauntingly up and down the stairwell in its endless travail, dragging behind it the bundle of roped infants.

  It was an imposing sight.

  But Lilith wished for a real man—a living man—with whom she could quench her lust, someone to suck dry of all will and life-force and faith, a vessel of real flesh that she could drain like a goblet of sweet wine.

  Too bad the dark house was empty.

  But just as God was known to answer the prayers of His faithful, perhaps Satan could too. For only a moment later, the darkling’s black heart sung with joy. Just as she had determined that the brooding house was devoid of anything she could use for her pleasure—

  Oh, what a wondrous gift!

  Another figure appeared on the stairs.

  Not the ghost....

  “Who the ... hail ... are—”

  But he never even finished his query, having already succumbed to her potent gaze. He was slovenly and fat and stupid—but he was real. She could scent his crude, unsophisticated lust like a snake tasting the air with its forked tongue, and her voice was like crystal water rushing over stones in a brook when she looked up at him, said, “Come down here.”

  (II)

  “Whose bones?” Cassie asked in alarm.

  “Blackwell’s,” Via replied, slouched in the train seat. “You know, Fenton Blackwell, the guy who—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to tell me the story,” Cassie made the grueling recollection. The mansion’s previous owner. “He killed all those ... ,” but then she didn’t even want to think about it anymore.

  “He sacrificed babies to Lucifer only minutes after they were born—dozens of them. He did it up in the oculus room at midnight. Service has its rewards—human sacrifice is the greatest homage that can be paid to the Devil. Blackwell was made a Grand Duke the second he descended into Hell.”

  This made sense but it also confused Cassie. “But I thought he was a ghost, in my house.”

  “A ghost is just a projection, like we told you.” Via seemed tired and bored. “It’s an image left over—part of the Deadpass. Blackwell’s ghost is soulless. It’s like a movie that switches on at certain times.”

  “But Blackwell’s actual damned soul is in Hell now?”

  “It sure is, partying hard somewhere. I heard he lives somewhere in Templar Cape; that’s where a lot of Grand Dukes live. It’s sort of like the midtown Manhattan of the Mephistopolis. Penthouse suites in luxury skyscrapers, every amenity. Those ugly fuckers live like kings—forever.”

  Cassie wasn’t seeing the connection. What’s this got to do with—

  “And that’s why we need his bones. In Hell, bones from the Living World are of great value,” Via repeated what had already been explained. “But the bones of someone truly evil—like Blackwell—can be used as Power Relics.”

  The Hand of Glory still provided them their invisibility, and they needn’t worry about their voices being heard because they shared a separate booth on the train. The bilge-filled River Styx behind them, Cassie glanced out the window at the red twilight and its thin black scythe of a moon hanging over the wastelands.

  “Power Relics,” she muttered, back to the point.

  “Not simply bones but very powerful bones,” Via said. “We can use them to rescue Lissa.”

  Yes! Cassie thought. “And Xeke.”

  Via frowned. “I told you. That bit with Xeke on the television—it was all an act. He’s a traitor.”

  Cassie was too confused to argue, but deep in her heart, she knew it couldn’t be true.

  “End of the line,” Via said when a bell started ringing. The train’s speed began to slow over the clattering iron tracks, and then the conductor’s voice rattled: “Last stop, Tiberius Depot, Outer-Sector South. Thank you for using the Sheol Express.”

  “Remember,” Via said, “no one can see us but they can still hear us.” She got up and held the severed hand forward. “No talking till we’re on the trail.”

  Cassie and Hush followed her out. Filing off the train before them were two horned military demons in leather armor, leading a pair of naked humans—a man and a woman—who were preposterously obese. The humans were chained in leg irons, misery stamped on their bulbous faces. Hush seemed alarmed when she pointed further ahead. Getting off the train first were two hooded figures in long white cloaks....

  Diviners, Cassie thought.

  Hush held a finger to her lips as they got off.

  Via ushered them to a comer of the outdoor train platform, and when out of earshot, she whispered, “This could be trouble. Those two guys in the white hoods and cloaks are Extipicists from the Sacred College of Anthropomancy—Lucifer’s personal Diviners.”

  “What are they doing here?” Cassie whispered back.

  “Lucifer must’ve sent Extipicists to every exit point in the Outer Sectors. He’s not taking any chances; he’s calling every card.”

  “Meaning?”

  Hush awkwardly scribbled in her notepad:

  they’re looking for us

  they think we might be here, at this depot

  Cassie’s stomach clenched.

  “Let them all get off the platform,” Via whispered.

  Several Trolls with suitcases hulked by and boarded the train. In the distance, the Extipicists and their crew left the station.

  “Jesus,” Via whispered. “This sucks.”

  “I don’t understand,” Cassie ineptly asked.

  “The shit they do works.
They’re gonna cast a divination, and when they do, they’ll know we’re here....”

  “Should we get back on the train?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Damn it!”

  Cassie peered around one of the platform’s lichen-stained pillars. The Diviners were walking up the same trail they’d have to take to get back to the house.

  To add to the confusion, a sudden beeping sound began to emit. Hush pointed upward: an oval television mounted on a pillar displayed a commercial for branding irons, but then words they’d already seen began to roll:ALERT! ALERT! STAY TUNED FOR AN URGENT BULLETIN FROM THE LUCIFERIC EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM

  It was the same turtle-face anchorwoman whose face appeared next. “Military authorities have just reported an insurgent attack in the outskirts of the city’s revered Mephisto District. Illegal Nectoports are being activated as I report this....”

  Cassie watched, astonished. A news clip flashed on the screen, showing hordes of figures in black metal armor wielding swords and axes against platoons of Ushers. In the background, buildings were on fire.

  “Divination sources speculate that previous news of a genuine Etheress in Hell triggered the outbreak by inciting the infamous Satan Park Contumacy, headed by the national traitor Ezoriel, but the Joint Demons are confident that the poorly planned attack will be no match for our security forces. Mutilation Squads have already been Nectoported to the scene and are soundly defeating the rebel troops....”

  Another flash showed more of the fray; phalanxes of the black-armored troops mowing down Ushers and Golems like weeds. What immediately occurred to Cassie was that the Mutilation Squads didn’t seem to be defeating anyone.

  “What a bunch of propaganda bullshit,” Via chuckled. “The Mutilation Squads are getting their asses kicked. This is great!”

  The anchorwoman gulped. “Uh, and, uh, meanwhile the hunt for Etheress Cassie Heydon goes on.” Cassie’s composite briefly flashed. “She still has not cooperated with the Constabulary, and it’s only a matter of time now before the generous Commissioner Himmler has no choice but to sentence the Etheress’ twin sister to eternal torture.”

  Cassie’s heart flinched at the next clip: Lissa hanging by her wrists over the squirming vat of Razor-Leeches.

  “To make matters worse,” the newscaster went on, “this human XR—a long-time fugitive—has escaped custody after having brutally murdered five detention officers.”

  It was Xeke’s composite that appeared next on the screen.

  “Rewards for this criminal have been doubled. He is believed to be a confederate of the Etheress and her party.”

  “More bullshit,” Via whispered.

  “To viewers who have just tuned in—war has broken out in Hell. Stay tuned for more updates—”

  “The shit’s really flying now,” Via said. She put her arm around Cassie and grinned. “How’s it feel to be famous?”

  A final terrifying newsclip showed more of the black knights butchering slews of Ushers in the flaming street. One knight, spattered in demon blood, walked right up to the camera and held up a sign:

  ETHERESS! JOIN US IN VICTORY!

  (III)

  The darkness licked her immaculate pink skin, and so did her ecstacy. She drooled into the peon’s agape mouth as she rode him—in the flesh.

  He had little for her to take but she took it regardless, unhesitantly, hard and fast, right there at the foot of the stairs. She was a nimble leopard, running down a clumsy moose in the field, taking it for her whimsy.

  The act was so refreshing to feel it all for real, not as a subcarnation but genuine flesh on flesh, his real blood so close, her own Hellborn skin sweating along with his as she raped him in his frenzy. Her blood surged, gorging her breasts and nipples, glutting the maximum capacity of every nerve and unearthly blood vessel.

  Abstain from fleshly lusts! she quoted St. Peter in a mocking thought. Her lissome legs clenched, the perfect pink abdomen tightening in feminine ripples. Her bliss hissed out between her teeth like steam from a kettle. Thy fleshly lusts which war against the soul!

  She took him a second time, pulled him atop herself, and wrapped her sleek, pretty legs around his back. Fetid breath gusted into her face, but to the darkling, it was cologne. She crossed her ankles and mused.

  I could snap the peon’s spine if I so desired. Let him drag his pitiful self around after me!

  Her elegant hands girded the fat throat and squeezed till he choked and his face ballooned.

  I could strangle him this very second....

  Indeed, now that her spells and machination hexes had made her fully incarnare, this voluptuous woman of the Dead could slay the Living. But—

  She knew she mustn’t forget her purpose here.

  It was a divine purpose, and a sacred one. She mustn’t let her own appetites obscure the crusade she’d been intrusted with.

  A final thrust, then—

  There. That was good.

  When she was done, she shoved him off of her, let his plump and pallid body slap to the floor. He lay there gasping, a fish out of water.

  “Goddess,” he croaked up at her, trembling hands reaching out. “Don’t leave me! I am your unworthy servant forever....”

  “My servant?” her windswept voice returned. “Then kneel as I anoint thee.”

  The peon knelt and bowed his head as she stood and covered him with her abyssal urine.

  “Make homage,” she demanded.

  It was laughable how the enspelled human frantically hauled his pants up from his ankles and fumbled through his pockets. Eventually he produced a small folding knife. He opened it and held it up to her.

  “Good little peon. Now cut your throat to the bone.”

  With no reservation, he put the blade to the side of his neck, and just as he began to cut, she said: “Stop. This world would be far better off without a useless sack of flesh such as yourself but... I may need you. Be at my call.”

  “Yes, yes! Thank you, my Goddess!”

  Now, she thought, looking around with her bottomless eyes. For the task at hand.

  She traipsed to the long room where the humans prepared their meals, examining the strange implements concealed in the many drawers and cupboards.

  Her grin faded.

  But there were no torches here, no candles or oil lamps or flint.

  “Sperm, sweat, spit, and blood,” she whispered the elements of humanity, and then the elements of nature: “Air, water, earth.... But no fire.”

  This Deadpass must be destroyed by fire—of this she’d been commanded. But how? she wondered, frustrated.

  Her ungainly acolyte shuffled to her, preposterously holding his pants up to his waist. “Goddess! Goddess! I’m here!”

  “Go away, you useless drone,” she replied, contemplating the predicament. “You should be fed to lions. You should be trussed and cooked on a spit. Do not annoy me further, or you’ll receive far worse.”

  “But-but,” he blabbered, “I live to serve you! Is this what you need?”

  His fat fingers held up a tiny silver box.

  Curious, she thought and took it. And what might this worldly trinket be?

  The darkling wasn’t quite sure. The box had the strangest word engraved on it. “What does this word mean, peon—” her sleek finger pointed—“this word right here?”

  The word was: ZIPPO

  (IV)

  “Fuckin-A,” Cassie muttered a rare profanity. The newsclips of the rebel war in the city blurred in her mind. It’s all happening because of me....

  “Watch out,” Via said, alarmed. “It’s a Were-Jackal—it can smell us.”

  They’d skirted the trail up to a stand of scaled trees. But Cassie could see what Via meant. Some doglike beast was trotting across the scorched soil, heading right for them. A foot-long red tongue hung from a wide lower jaw rimmed by teeth like masonry nails. White foam hung off the jaw in dangling strings.

  “Do it,” Via ordered. “Hurry. That thing’ll give us away
to the Diviners.”

  Cassie, confused, tried to direct her energy. She continued to peer at the animal as it trotted closer. “But—I can’t. It’s a dog. It’d be like killing somebody’s pet.”

  “That pet is a Were-Jackal,” Via sternly said. “It’ll eat your liver. If it gets up here, our cover’s blown. The three of us’ll get scarfed down like a bag of Snausages. Then you’ll never get to see your sister again.”

  Now Cassie noted the animal’s features. It had something akin to a human head on a jackal’s body. She gritted her teeth and glared at it.

  The beast stopped, backed off a few feet. But that was all.

  Then it re-commenced its trek up the hill.

  “Try it again!” Via insisted. “We don’t have till friggin’ Christmas!”

  Cassie let her mind be filled with the most vicious image: the Were-Jackal tearing into them, snarling, its great jaws pulling their innards out like stuffing from a pillow.

  Then she glared again—

  The beast yelped once, then fell over, its rib cage suddenly crushed by the force of Cassie’s mind. Its eyes popped and its mouth vomited a slew of maggot-ridden blood.

  Oh, man. I am really getting sick of this Etheress stuff.

  But it was a smidgen of good luck for a change. The beast’s lone yelp hadn’t been heard by the Extipicists.

  Cassie, Via, and Hush glanced down the hill’s smoke-misted slope and saw that the pair of attendant demons had lashed their victims to a single pole in the ground. The two human subjects tremored in terror, their body fat quaking. The Extipicists stood aside, perfectly still in their white hoods and cloaks.

  Then the demon conscripts began to flense the subjects.

  Aw, GROSS!

  With great curved blades, the Conscripts began to deftly shear the fat off the chests and bellies of the subjects. The subjects, understandably, screamed to high Heaven. When the fat had been parted and trimmed off, this left the bare abdominal walls, which the demons then sliced into with vigor.

  Armfuls of entrails were removed from the rents.

  “Come on,” Via urged. “We’ll be back at the Deadpass by the time they get the reading.”