City Infernal

by Edward Lee

  In Cassie’s heart and mind, none of these facts could ever pardon her from what had happened that night.

  And she knew she would carry that blame around with her, like a satchel of heavy bricks, for the rest of her life.

  It was a burden that would never fully be relieved.

  (II)

  After the showdown at Blackwell’s, Cassie had been safely Nectoported back to Ezoriel’s hidden fortress, to the Fallen Angel’s chateau and the very headquarters of the Satan Park Contumacy. By now she was used to the queen-like treatment, considering her power as well as her status as an Etheress and the First Saint of Hell. She was washed, fed, and cared for by every conceivable personal attendant and metaphysical doctor, then left under guard to recover from the incapacitating aftereffects of her manipulation of the Power Relic. The much-needed rest rejuvenated her much more quickly than she would’ve thought.

  As for Ezoriel and his militia, their defeat at the Flesh Warrens was a considerable one, but not a fatal one. Countless thousands of the Fallen Angel’s soldiers had been destroyed, though their loss was not totally in vain. This largest invasion of the Warrens provided them with much in the way of logistical and intelligence information, and such surveys would serve them well in future assaults against the Demonocracy of Lucifer.

  Of that, Cassie felt sure.

  There would be more assaults indeed. Ezoriel and his army would never retreat from their goal of deposing God’s former-favorite.

  But the question of Lissa continued to nag at Cassie’s sensibilities. There was so much to assess. Lissa’s ploy, at least, was now much easier to see after Cassie had had time to think about it. Certainly her masquerading as “Xeke” via the latest and most sophisticated techniques of Transfiguration surgery would allow for a simple yet effective infiltration among the likes of non-Hierarchals such as Via and Hush. As a Bi-Facer, Lissa could easily pose as one of them, undermine their confidence, pretend to share in their ideals as renegades of the damned. The specifications of a true Etheress would be just as easily reckoned by Lissa, a sexual virgin in the Living World, and the twin sister of another virgin: Cassie.

  The rest was elementary, simply by the designs of Hell itself, and the diabolical motivations that were the status quo there.

  Eternal damnation breeds eternal hatred.

  And eternal greed.

  What cruxed Cassie the most, however, were some of the very last things she’d witnessed back at Blackwell’s chamber before her rescue.

  For one, how had Lissa 50 quickly disappeared from the spot, and why? Cassie could only assume that since her sister was clearly in league with the Agency of the Constabulary, she must’ve had access to other, newer provisions of the Constabulary’s sorcery-based transportation technologies. No Nectoport had appeared at that last moment to secret Lissa away.

  Instead, she’d simply vanished.

  Odder still were Lissa’s final words. She’d acted as though she knew Ezoriel. She’d implied that they’d once been friends.

  Cassie couldn’t figure how such a thing could be possible—

  Until she asked Ezoriel himself.

  (III)

  She stood on a high rampart, on the highest turret of Ezoriel’s fortress. This hidden track of the Nether-Spheres seemed to defy all understanding of geography, even in Hell. Was it a fortress in the clouds? Did it exist in some other domain of the Mephistopolis? The first time she’d come here, Via had even told her that the Nether-Spheres occupied a plane of physical existence in some proximity to Heaven.

  But here, she knew, a simple inch could equal a million miles by her own understanding.

  The sky wasn’t scarlet here; instead it seemed indescribably colorless, yet wisps of blue-tinted clouds breezed by, and the air was so fresh it seemed to mildly intoxicate her. Paradise in the domain of the Damned. But in all its luxury and freshness, this stronghold of Ezoriel proved his dedication. He could elect to simply spend eternity here amid this beauty—quite a powerful temptation, in this place that had been created by temptation—but instead he choose to brave the horrific streets and alleys of the city in order to pursue his battle against the injustice of Lucifer and his government.

  The breeze caressed her living skin. When she peered into the infinite distance, she thought she saw a sparrow fly by.

  Footsteps approached.

  When she turned against the stone rampart, she saw Ezoriel, in a shining silver breastplate, coming toward her along the narrow passage.

  His voice continued to remind her of bright light. “Have you any needs, Holy One?”

  “No,” Cassie said.

  “Though our battle was lost, we’ve gained much—to fight again. And that is how it will always be. Your presence has blessed us, and for that you have our eternal thanks.”

  “I didn’t really do anything,” she said. “I tried to but it all got screwed up.”

  “You’ve done more than you can ever imagine. Not only have you served Lucifer the greatest insult of his reign, you’ve given myself and my legions a gift beyond measure.”

  A gift? she wondered. “What gift?”

  “Hope,” the Fallen Angel said. “In the realm of the hopeless.”

  Cassie shrugged, despondent.

  “Even if you never return to Hell—a circumstance that I ardently advise—your time with us will never be forgotten, ever. Your spirit and your presence has granted us an unflagging strength.”

  “Well, that’s nice of you to say,” she limply replied. “I’d like to come back and help you sometime, but ...” What could she say? That she was scared? Of course she was. “I have a father—and a life—somewhere else.”

  “Of course. You don’t belong here.”

  If I came back, I could get killed, she realized. How many times had she nearly died already?

  Her voice darkened. “What happens if an Etheress dies? I mean, if she dies in Hell?”

  “I cannot say,” Ezoriel’s voice shined. “It’s a secret.”

  Terrific, Cassie thought, leaning against the rampart with her chin in her hands. But Ezoriel was right, and even if it was fear that most motivated her to never come back here, she was right too. Her life—her living body and mind—was a precious thing; life itself was precious, and she knew that now. Being in Hell, being among all this misery and endless despair, had taught her that at least.

  She cringed to think back on the times when she’d hated her life, and the times she’d wanted to end it. Now she knew better.

  Now she knew she would never take the Living World for granted again.

  Then the thought rekindled as she remained there on the rampart with the Angel.

  Lissa.

  “When we were at Blackwell’s,” she began, “Lissa said some things I couldn’t understand. She indicated that she knew you, didn’t she? She said that the two of you had been friends once.”

  “Yes.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I trust you noticed the brand on her abdomen,” Ezoriel said. “The pentagram. It was a band of Transposition. In your world, ranchers brand their cattle to prove ownership. It works similarly here, too, but there’s something more.”

  She figured at least this much: the brand meant that Lissa was owned. By someone here, someone in Hell. “Transposition,” she spoke the word. “Wasn’t it a Transposition Spell that allowed me to use the Power Relic, to put my spirit into the bones?”

  “To transpose your spirit, yes. Your spirit left your physical body, to occupy something else.” Ezoriel looked down at her. “So I hope that you will find at least some solace.”

  Cassie’s own glance back showed him that she didn’t understand.

  The voice, like strange light, explained. “Just as your spirit was transposed, so was the spirit of your sister—hence, the brand.”

  “You mean—”

  “It wasn’t actually Lissa whom we confronted in Blackwell’s chamber,” the Fallen Angel said. “It was Lissa’s body, transpose
d with the spirit of someone else.”

  Someone else....

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Someone I used to be friends with,” Ezoriel said.

  (IV)

  “You get drunk again last night?” Mrs. Conner whispered fiercely to her rather disheveled son. Had she been home, she wouldn’t be whispering, she’d be yelling. But she didn’t dare yell at him now, not here at Blackwell Hall. It simply wouldn’t do for Mr. Heydon to overhear a family spat. Cain’t have that wonderful man thinkin’ we’re just a bunch of backwoods hillbillies, she told herself.

  Instead, she’d confronted Jervis outside, when he’d arrived an hour late to start mowing the lawn. He looked a sight, a big bump on his head, a cut on his face, and he appeared exhausted with dark circles under his eyes.

  “I ain’t lyin’ to ya, Ma,” he pleaded. “I didn’t drink a thing last night, I’se swear to ya.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Must’ve fallen out of bed and hit my head. And, lord, did I have some weird dreams.”

  Weird dreams, Mrs. Conner thought. She’d had a few herself, but they’d been less weird than wild. She blushed slightly thinking about it now. Dreamed I was makin’ some serious bacon with Mr. Heydon.

  To her, it was a terrific dream.

  “Just get on about your work and straighten yourself up, boy,” she ordered. “We got ourselves some fine jobs here at the house and I ain’t gonna let you mess it all up for us by comin’ to work late and lookin’ like you slept in a cement mixer. So get to work! And try not to be seen by Mr. Heydon. Honestly, you look like a perfect rube, boy.”

  Jervis sluggishly yanked up on the cord, started the mower, and just as sluggishly began cutting the front lawn.

  Mrs. Conner scurried back inside, her formidable bosom jogging up and down. She got back to cleaning the front bow windows as quick as she could, streaking her squeegee and squinting against the high morning sun. Hard as she tried to appear normal, she had to admit she was a little off kilter. Those were some dreams, she thought. Naughtily erotic, thrillingly dirty. Her crush on Mr. Heydon was clearly manifesting itself. Making love to him in the dream had seemed alarmingly real.

  In fact, she wouldn’t mind having more dreams like that.

  But what bothered her was her memory. Dreams aside, there was something definitely peculiar about last night. She couldn’t remember anything from eleven p.m. or so, to four in the morning when she woke up in the bed in her trailer, naked. Mrs. Conner never slept naked. And her clothes were strewn on the floor as if dropped there. This was not her style at all.

  I ain’t old enough to be gettin’ senile, she thought.

  She stepped up higher on the footstool, reaching up toward a higher pane.

  “Good morning.”

  Mrs. Conner nearly fell off the footstool. Mr. Heydon stood behind her looking up. She didn’t know why she thought it, but she had the oddest feeling that he might have been standing there for a while, looking at her. The thought flattered her, but she knew it was just a fantasy.

  “Mornin’, Mr. Heydon. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “It certainly is. A good-to-be-alive day.”

  She steadied herself and looked back down. Handsome man, if a bit fat, but Mrs. Conner liked a man with some meat on his bones. Even if he wasn’t rich, she mused, I’d jump his bones in a second, and then she thought, Lordy, what’s gotten into me thinking such things!

  “How are you today, Mr. Heydon?”

  Bill Heydon arched his back as though it were sore, then rubbed his eyes. He looked very tired. “Feeling pretty beat to tell you the truth. Didn’t sleep that great.” He seemed to frown at himself, as if remembering something nonsensical. “I had the weirdest dreams last night.”

  Mrs. Conner’s brow tittered. You and me both. But she couldn’t believe what she said next. “Sometimes if you talk out your dreams, it helps you understand yerself better. What did ya dream about?”

  Did he chuckle under his breath? “Never, uh, never mind, Mrs. Conner.”

  She was blushing again in the recollection of her own dreams, then tried to change the subject. “How’s Miss Cassie feelin’? She seemed a bit under the weather the past few days.”

  “She’s still in bed, I just checked on her. I think she just got too much sun. She’ll be fine in no time.”

  “I sure hope so, Mr. Heydon. She’s a right nice gal, she is.” She polished more glass, desperate for something more to say. She didn’t want him to leave. “Oh, just so ya know, Jervis is out front mowin’ the yard, and I should be done with these windows in an hour or so. Then I thought I’d start scrubbing the floors in some of the rooms upstairs, that is, if ya like.”

  Bill looked distractedly at his watch. “Don’t bother. I don’t care about those old rooms.” He paused, looking at her. “Say, I was wondering ...”

  “Yes, Mr. Heydon?”

  “I was thinking of driving up to Pulaski. Would you like to go with me? We could have lunch somewhere.”

  Again, Mrs. Conner nearly fell off the footstool. “Why—I—why sure, Mr. Heydon. That’d be lovely....”

  “Forget about the windows. Let’s go now.”

  Mrs. Conner could barely speak. “I’m, uh, ready when you are, Mr. Heydon.”

  “I’ll be right back. Let me get my keys. Oh, and call me Bill.”

  (V)

  Did I just ask my housekeeper out on a lunch date? Bill shrugged. To hell with it. I can do what I want.

  And, man, what a body....

  He went back to his bedroom, grabbed the keys to the Caddie. Something caused him to pause, though, and look around the room.

  He’d wakened in the wee hours, naked in bed.

  Bill Heydon never slept naked, or at least not for years.

  And why were his t-shirt and shorts scattered about the room?

  Weird, he thought. Another thing he’d noticed was a broken lamp on the floor, and it infuriated him that he couldn’t explain it. It must’ve fallen off the nightstand or something.

  His body was sore, and this morning when he looked in the bathroom mirror, he noticed some bruises on his chest and scratchmarks on his shoulders and back.

  He could remember nothing of last night ... except the dreams.

  Man, he thought again. What a body....

  It was just one of those things, he supposed. Upon waking, some nameless fear had seized him. Cassie, he’d thought. But when he’d rushed upstairs to her room, he found her safely asleep in bed.

  Bill just shook his head at the whole perplexity and left the bedroom. Better just to forget about it.

  It was time for his lunch date....

  Epilogue

  (I)

  “Eight-ball in the corner,” Roy said, awkwardly lining up the shot. He’s getting cocky, I guess, Cassie thought. Only some expert English by a pro pool player could make such a shot, and the rest of the bar’s patrons laughed when Roy called it.

  Too bad I can’t tell him why he’s really winning. click

  Via, unseen to all but Cassie, flicked the ball into the pocket. The crowd around the table cheered.

  “Rack ’em,” Roy said to the next challenger.

  Things were settling down now. It hadn’t taken Cassie long to recuperate from her sojourn to Hell. She felt fine now, rested, healed, and surprisingly normal. Her father had some serious ga-ga eyes for Mrs. Conner, and the feeling was clearly mutual. Soon, they’d be officially dating, which was perfectly okay with Cassie. Jervis, for reasons only Cassie could understand, never came into the house anymore; he stuck to working strictly outside, so there’d be no more peeping.

  And Roy still hadn’t realized the coincidence that any time Cassie happened to be in the Crossroads Tavern, he won big at the billiards table. And when she wasn’t there, he pretty much sucked. Of course, he’d never know why.

  Indeed, life was returning to normal, or at least as normal as could be hoped for.

  “Hey, look,” Via said, “here comes that asshole again.”
r />   Cassie, from her bar stool, glanced at the door, and in walked Chester with a black eye and bandage on his nose.

  “Want me to have some fun with him?” Via asked. “I’ll kick him right in the stomach.”

  The tiny cut on Cassie’s hand would make that possible to their sheer delight. “Let’s wait and see if he acts up first,” she told Via.

  “What’s that?” the towering barkeep asked. “You say somethin’, Cassie?”

  “Just talking to myself,” she said.

  Chester, obviously ashamed, walked right up to Roy at the table and handed him some cash. “Here’s your money from the other night, Roy,” he said, embarrassed. “I’m really sorry ‘bout what happened. Some things never change, ya know? Beer plus Chester equals asshole.”

  “No problem, Chester,” Roy said. The two men shook hands. “Wanna game?” Roy asked, gesturing the lit table.

  “Hail no!” Chester said, and then everyone laughed.

  Can you believe this? Cassie thought. I’m a Goth girl hanging out in a redneck bar... and I’m fitting in.

  It was funny. Cassie was really beginning to like this place.

  “There’s my good luck charm,” Roy said and came back to the bar. “Can you believe all this money I’m winnin’?”

  “You’re a hot shot, Roy.”

  He nodded over his beer. “Yeah, it looks like I am.” There’d be no romance between them, but Cassie really liked Roy. In fact, he was her best friend out here.