Hellgate: Goetia

by Mel Odom

  Then he felt it pulsing in his hand, like the echo of a heart beating slowly and strongly somewhere deep inside.

  Fear touched Warren then. Some books had lives of their own. Some were traps. He’d read about them and heard about them from other Cabalists.

  All of the books of power were designed to protect themselves.

  He ran his hand, his demon’s hand, over the book. A purr vibrated through the still air at the contact. The book felt pleasing to Warren’s touch.

  “Are you alive?” he whispered to the book. Even though he’d read about such things, he’d never actually seen a living book.

  An eye opened in the center of the book.

  Warren slowly drew his hand back.

  The eye bulged from the book’s surface and glanced around. Warren almost expected it to sprout legs to run away or wings to fly off. He wouldn’t have truly been surprised.

  A mouth opened below the eye. Jagged fangs and a forked black tongue filled it.

  “Who are you?” The voice was deep, somber, and slow.

  Warren thought about his answer for the briefest moment. True names often carried power, and Merihim had enough power over him.

  “A friend,” Warren said.

  The eye looked around the room again. “I don’t know this place.”

  “You’re safe here.”

  Suspicion narrowed the eye’s focus as it studied him. “What do you want?”

  That was a dangerous question too. The book doubtless had protective spells, but how did the other man hold it?

  “Only to know,” Warren said.

  “What do you wish to know?” the book asked.

  “Everything.”

  The mouth below the staring eye smiled. “Then know.”

  The book cover flipped open and struck the table a resounding blow that echoed in the cavernous room. The first page was a full-color illustration that had to have come from Hell itself. As Warren stared into the picture, he sank into it.

  In the blink of an eye, Warren stood on that battlefield. Demonic roars, the shrill, frightened cries of the wounded and dying, and the clanking of iron-bound wheels spinning across the rocky ground screamed into his ears.

  All around him, fearful demons engaged frightened human warriors mounted on horseback and in chariots. Most of the demons towered above the humans. Some breathed flames and incinerated humans, horses, and chariots alike. Flying demons struck from above with spells, weapons, claws, and teeth.

  Warren turned his head in an effort to look away from the book. All he saw was more of the battlefield. He didn’t know how he’d entered the scene in the book, and he definitely didn’t know how he was going to get out.

  “Demon!” The harsh cry ripped through the air behind Warren. “Foul thing from the pits of Hell! I’ll send you back!”

  Warren turned and saw a charioteer riding straight for him. In the chariot, a man with a square-cut beard, an olive complexion, and violet eyes drove his team furiously. He plucked a javelin from the quiver mounted beside him. The two horses that pulled the chariot were wide-eyed with panic and frothing at the mouth from being run too hard for too long.

  Stand still, Warren told himself. Just stand still and let him run you through. That will break whatever spell you’re under.

  The chariot raced toward him. The horses’ hooves thundered on the hard-packed, bloodstained earth. The iron-bound wheels rolled over the bodies of the dead. With a lithe flick of his arm, the charioteer sent the javelin shooting toward Warren.

  Self-preservation won out over Warren’s decision to stand his ground. Years of looking out for himself and fearing nearly everything and everybody wouldn’t be denied. He stepped back and sideways to let the javelin pass within inches of him. No one human could have moved so fast. Merihim’s hand blending with Warren’s own flesh and the spells he’d laid on himself had increased his physical abilities.

  Undeterred, the charioteer whipped his horses mercilessly and drove them straight at Warren. Either the horses’ flashing hooves or the churning wheels would wound or kill him.

  Warren gestured at the horses’ feet. Their legs tangled and they fell. The harness jingled and rattled as the chariot overturned and slid along the ground. The wheel trapped under the vehicle shattered as the driver sailed forward and landed on the ground. Before he could get up, the chariot rolled over him and the broken wheel spokes tore into his chest and stomach.

  Another human rider rode at Warren and swung the short-hafted ax he carried in one scarred hand. With his right hand, Warren caught the man’s wrist as he swung the heavy blade at his head. With a brief twist, Warren pulled the rider from his saddle and flung him away.

  A riderless horse ran beside Warren. Effortlessly, Warren caught the saddle horn in his left hand and hauled himself into the saddle.

  He was surprised at his actions. He’d never ridden a horse before in his life, and he’d only seen the maneuver he’d just performed in movies and television shows.

  He leaned down and caught the reins, then pulled them back hard enough to make the horse rear. The blood that built up in the steed’s lungs from the exertions of battle caused pink foam to fleck his nostrils.

  The horse wheeled at his command, and he looked down the long hill where the battle raged. Fetid Hulks towered twelve feet tall as they marched slowly through the horsemen and chariots to smash the ballistae the human forces had gathered to combat the advancing horde. Ill-shaped and ghastly green, the brutes hammered men, horses, and chariots to pieces. They stopped on occasion and spewed the virulent toxin they carried in the sack below their gaping mouths.

  Carnagors, thickly muscled and armored with almost impenetrable gray-black hides, erupted from the ground as they tunneled under the battlefield to surprise the defenders. When they came aboveground, their massive heads snapped out at those luckless enough to be around them, gulped them down, and retreated once more into the earth.

  Blade Minions swung their spiked forearms against their foes as they took on the front-line defenders. The armor that the humans wore shredded like paper under their blows. Ripped and torn bodies lay scattered behind them as they drove forward.

  Occasionally the defenders got loads of rock airborne. When they did, the rocks crushed and injured the imps and demons that made up the bulk of the invading force. Huge crossbow bolts flew across the battlefield and speared through the Fetid Hulks and other large demons.

  But those victories were too few to even begin to turn the tide of battle.

  From horseback, Warren watched the battle. Part of him wanted to see how things turned out even though he was certain he knew. But part of him wanted to return to his room in the brothel.

  The thing that scared him most was that he didn’t even know if that was possible. He could be trapped in the book forever. He was certain that was where he was.

  Do you know now? the voice asked. Do you wish to know more?

  Before Warren could answer, he looked farther up the hill the demons were taking and saw a castle high among the jagged peaks. A narrow dirt trail wound back and forth across the foothills to reach up into the mountains. Warren assumed the trail led to the castle, and he wondered who lived there.

  Do you wish to know more?

  Warren almost answered yes before he had time to think. Is that part of the glamour? Does curiosity bind you to the book? And what happens to you when you stay here?

  “Not yet,” Warren answered. “Let me know more later.”

  As you wish.

  The landscape swirled then went black. Dizziness wrenched Warren’s stomach and he would have purged if only his stomach and throat were still connected. He was certain they weren’t.

  Then everything faded away.

  Warren roused as if from a heavy sleep. He gazed blearily at the book before him on the desk. At the moment it only looked like a book again. Curious, wondering if he’d only imagined the whole thing, he lifted his hand and laid it on the book.

  The eye an
d mouth didn’t reappear. He wondered if he could call it forth if he wanted to.

  “Warren?”

  Startled, Warren snapped his head around.

  EIGHT

  I ll at ease, Warren rose from the chair at the desk. He thought about putting the book away, but knew that doing so would only draw more attention to it. Instead, he focused on the woman who had intruded into his sanctuary and wondered how she’d been able to do that.

  Naomi sat on the unmade bed in the center of the room. Covered in tattoos and piercings, the woman was a couple years older than Warren. Two short, curved horns stood out on her smooth forehead and gave her an evil look. Petite and womanly, she wore dark red leather pants, hiking boots, and a sleeveless, high-necked blouse.

  At one time she’d been more skilled in the ways of demons than he was. That was no longer true. These days he was the teacher. From the beginning, he had more power.

  “Is anyone else here?” Warren demanded. He rose from his seat and gazed around the room for anyone that might have accompanied her.

  No one else was there.

  “I came alone,” Naomi said in her soft contralto.

  Warren glared at her. She was the kind of woman that wouldn’t have given him a second glance before the Hellgate opened. If he hadn’t been as powerful as he was, and definitely more powerful than her, she probably still wouldn’t have given him the time of day.

  “How did you get in?” he demanded.

  “Through the front door. It isn’t locked.”

  It wasn’t locked because it had been broken down. Fixing it would only have drawn attention to the fact that someone lived there. And zombies didn’t repair doors.

  “The zombies should have stopped you.”

  “They didn’t,” Naomi replied casually.

  When he’d first met her four years ago, Naomi had been among the hierarchy of the Cabalist sect that had taken Warren in and explored the power he’d possessed that had drawn Merihim forth. Most of those people were dead now, some of them at Warren’s hand.

  “Why?”

  “You’ve had me here with you.”

  Warren had. She’d since become a sometime lover. At first he’d been excited. Then he’d learned she was only truly with him to learn what he knew. The passion had quickly cooled, and he hadn’t wanted to let her know she’d hurt him by being so mercenary.

  “They didn’t know they were supposed to keep me out,” she said.

  “I need to tell them to guard against you,” he said.

  Naomi frowned. “Do you see me as a threat?”

  “No. Of course not.” Warren said that quickly, a gentle rebuke to remind her of how much power he wielded rather than any form of endearment. “But this is my sanctum.” He’d always liked that word when he’d read it in the comics.

  She smiled a little at that. “I would have called if I could. Niceties like announcing yourself are a thing of the past, I’m afraid.”

  Warren walked to the window and looked out over the city. Darkness had given way to light, but it was far past dawn. He couldn’t help wondering how long he’d spent ensorcelled by the book.

  “What are you doing here, Naomi?” he asked.

  “I came to see you.”

  He leaned a hip against the window and gazed at her. “You don’t do that often, and only then to get something from me.”

  “You make me sound selfish.”

  “You are.”

  “But you still like me.”

  “Sometimes.” Warren felt irritated at the game she played. Before, when he’d first met her, she’d been intimidated and fascinated by him. Now she’d grown familiar with him. And maybe more than a little jealous of his power.

  The Cabalists observed and—sometimes—captured demons. They catalogued and grouped them to explore their natures and weaknesses. But mostly they coveted the demons’ power.

  Before the Hellgate had opened, humans—some humans—had possessed powers that some believed came from an earlier contamination of demons touching this world. The histories were more like fables and stories regarding those times, but the powers had existed. The closer the time came for the Hellgate to manifest, the more prevalent the powers became.

  Warren’s mother had been drawn to the dark powers, and she’d neglected every other aspect of her life for them. Warren had never wanted them, and he’d tried to ignore the fact that he’d had them.

  “Do you like me now?” Naomi asked coyly.

  “I liked you better four years ago,” Warren said. “You had more tact in those days.”

  Stung, Naomi stood. Her cheeks darkened. “You thought I was innocent?”

  Warren had. He also wondered if she had been more innocent in those days and if the power she strove to attain was corrupting her.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Warren replied. Though he resented her intrusion, he didn’t want to see her go away angry. Or maybe go away at all. “I like you fine now. But you shouldn’t come here.”

  “I usually like coming here.”

  “What would you do if the zombies weren’t the only things I had guarding this place?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You could end up getting killed.”

  Naomi crossed the room to him and took his demon’s hand in both of hers. She kissed the scaled flesh tenderly. Warren couldn’t help wondering if Merihim felt that kiss as well, and if Naomi suspected the demon might.

  “I don’t think you’d ever kill me,” she said.

  “I would,” Warren said, “if I ever had reason to.”

  “I will never give you reason to.”

  Warren hoped not. He hadn’t had any friends before the Hellgate opened. He didn’t have any now, but Naomi was as close as it came.

  “Why did you come?” he asked.

  “To see you.” Naomi released his hand and stepped away.

  Warren waited. He didn’t like playing games with her.

  “First Seer Cornish would like to speak to you.”

  “About what?”

  “He didn’t say.” Naomi frowned at that. “It appears he likes keeping his secrets too.”

  First Seer Cornish was new to the post. Not many who wanted to become the leader of the Cabalists remained in that position. He’d been an aristocrat before the arrival of the demons and had conducted his studies into mysticism on his own. He still remained something of an elitist, and Warren didn’t care for him.

  “I’m surprised he’s still alive,” Warren said.

  “The current First Seer has a way of giving ideas to others and convincing them they thought of them,” Naomi said disdainfully. “Several people have died as a result.”

  “Do you think he wants to convince me of something?”

  “He might.” Naomi smiled. “But I don’t think he will.”

  “Did he convince you to come here?”

  “I didn’t need convincing.” Naomi came to him and wrapped her arms around him. “I only needed an excuse. It’s been days since I’ve seen you.” She kissed him deeply.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, where do you get the water to bathe?”

  Warren stood in the bath and toweled himself dry. “I had the zombies dig a well in the basement. They pump it up to the hot tubs on the fifth floor.”

  “You had a well built?”

  “Dug. Yes.”

  “I didn’t know you knew how to dig wells.”

  “There are books that tell you how to dig wells.” Warren pulled on black jeans and a red, white, and blue Rochdale Hornets rugby jersey. The garment, an official jersey, was something he’d never have been able to afford before the invasion. “You can find pumps at the stores.”

  The city’s survivors made use of everything they could find, but there were far more supplies than there were survivors.

  “The water tables are dropping. Soon it’s going to be hard to get drinking water.”

  Warren knew that. All a person had to do was look at the River Thames
to see that. The effects of the Burn had lowered the river to the point that it now flowed backward in from the North Sea. Once that had happened, the water had turned brackish, fresh water mixing with salt water, and became undrinkable. Wells near the riverbanks had also become tainted because they weren’t able to filter out enough of the salt.

  Despite that knowledge, Warren didn’t feel guilty about bathing. When he’d grown up in the foster homes, hygiene had been ignored. Baths were a creature comfort he demanded.

  Dressed, Warren surveyed his reflection in the mirror. The scars from the burns left him with patches of demon skin. His mates would have ridiculed him as ugly, but among the Cabalists he was looked upon with envy.

  Though Cabalists could—sometimes—transplant demon horns as Naomi did, few of them could transplant limbs or organs successfully. Those who tried and failed died horrible, agonizing deaths. The number of those who wanted to try were even fewer.

  He turned from the mirror and returned to the suite.

  Naomi sat at the desk and pored over the book.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  She still hadn’t dressed and sat there naked in the chair. She’d suggested that the First Seer didn’t have a definite timetable in mind and they could be a little later. Warren hadn’t wanted the physical encounter because he always felt weak afterwards for giving in to her. It was like admitting she had power over him. But he hadn’t been able to ignore it.

  “Looking at this book,” she replied. “Where did you get it?”

  Warren ignored the question. He walked over to join her, surprised that she was still sitting there.

  “What do you see?” he asked quietly.

  “Shapes. Shadows. The pages look like they were wet and the ink smeared. I don’t know why you haven’t thrown it away.” Naomi regarded him. “You see something else, don’t you?”

  On the page, the battle between the humans and the demons continued. The skirmish line had receded farther up the hill. The image began to waver.

  With an effort of will, Warren looked away and closed the book with his human hand. “No.”