“Are they werewolves?” I asked, pointing back at the bodyguards.
Samael nodded. “They're Damien's pack. The best security this side of Pandemonium. He runs events like this, and as Hell's best arms dealer, you know his guards come well-equipped. He's here overseeing his pack tonight.”
I tripped on a root. Samael grabbed my wrist, steadying me. “Thanks. So what do we need to talk to Damien for?”
Samael's eyes scintillated. “We're going to test your petersword’s mettle.”
I stopped in my tracks. “You mean? - no. I'm not going to kill anyone, or do some kind of immortal assassination.”
Samael snorted. “As if. We're going to see if you can open portals, like you did the night I first met you.”
My eyes widened. “But I thought I just stumbled on a hellmouth. I didn't try to open anything.”
Samael shrugged. “There is no stumbling upon hellmouths. Either you needed Hell, or Hell has need of you.”
His words iced my bones. “I didn't want anything to do with this,” I said, my voice weak.
“And yet here you are.”
We rounded a corner to a circular area with a fountain, enclosed by a high stone wall. Damien was sitting on a bench with his back to us, drink in hand, scanning a computer with security feeds. He closed his laptop as we approached.
“Samael?” Damien said. “Is it really wise to be parading around public with an ascendant in tow?”
“Wiser than hiding her and arousing suspicion,” Samael replied. “I need your help. Do you have a moment?”
Damien smoothed his pants. “I have hours. My pack can handle routine security. Let me just radio in.” He did, alerting his guards of his absence, then turned to us, eyebrows crooked. “So what is it?”
Samael crossed his arms behind his head. “Oh, nothing much. I was just wondering if you remembered where the portal to Pan's woods is.”
Damien's eyes shot open. He looked at me. “No,” he breathed. “You can't mean – already? You think you're capable of opening portals now, Shannon?”
“I don't know,” I admitted. “But I can try.”
“Excellent,” Samael said, giving me a proud smile.
I felt like an honor roll student in the presence of their glowing-with-pride parent. I shuffled my feet, uncomfortable. “So where do we go?” I asked.
Chapter 6
We arrived at the forested outskirts of Pandemonium's border at half-past twelve. I fought back a yawn, surrounded by thick, beautifully colored trunks that shone even in the moonlight. Their bark was colorful: deep reds, purples, and greens, even a rare blue or yellow, all mixed with brown in a natural grain The leaves were already tinged by fall, dusky golds and reds, and strange birds sounded through the night. I shivered at a particularly shrill cry.
“What was that?” I said.
Damien, lighting the way with a lantern, shook his head. “A Lilin. One of Lilith's brood. They prey on travelers lost in the woods. Half-man, half-owl, and altogether gruesome.”
I glanced at Samael, who glided after me, dressed in his Grim Reaper robe. “Your ex-girlfriend doesn't sound very nice,” I observed.
Samael scoffed. “Who, Lilith? Of course not. She's the mother of sin. Then again, I'm the father of it.”
I twisted my lip. “And that's something you're proud of?”
He seemed to consider his answer. “There's value in questioning. That's what I taught Eve to do.” Samael glanced up at the moon sailing high above us. “Lilith is many things, but above all, she is free-spirited. Even I couldn't hold her down.”
“It's here,” Damien said, taking a whiff of the air as if scenting the trail of prey. He set his lantern down at the base of a towering, silvery oak. He palmed a whorl in the bark, and the trunk glowed at his touch. “This is it. The closed portal to my home.” His voice rung with emotion.
Samael put a hand on Damien's shoulder. “Thank you. I know this isn't easy for you.”
Damien shook his head. “To think, that I could see my old villa again. It's too strange to imagine.”
I stood rooted to my spot, unsure. “So, um, what do I do?”
Samael's ice blue eyes met mine. “First, summon your petersword.”
I kissed my necklace's charm. “Okay, now what?”
“Touch the point to the whorl in the oak tree, and twist.”
The tip of my petersword met the rough bark. I twisted it, unsure.
A column of light shot up from the oak's base, enveloping the tree. It shimmered like a geyser, and the cloudy outline of a doorway appeared.
“Well that was unexpected,” I said, lowering my sword.
Damien fell to his knees, crying out in Italian. “Thank Lupa,” he finally said, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. He rose slowly from the ground, turning to look at me as if I was on fire. “Shannon, you are a blessing,” he said.
I blushed. “I wouldn't go that far.”
“No,” Samael said, “You are the harbinger of a new age.”
I was silenced by that. I stared at the glowing portal. “So,” I slowly said, “do we go through or what?”
On the other side of the doorway was an olive grove atop a cliff by the sea. It was day, and sea spray wafted up to us, the salt biting my nose. I gasped at the beauty of the Mediterranean hills. Islands dotted the horizon, and Damien kissed the ground, running his hands through the soil. He seemed to be praying to the gods, naming deities like Diana and Selene.
Samael laughed. “It worked,” he said. “It really worked.”
I leaned against an olive tree. I reached up and plucked one of the ripe globes from the branches, weighed it in my hand, then chucked it into the ocean. It crested over scree and plummeted into a wave. “Nice place.”
Damien rose from the ground, his face filled with reverence. “Thank you,” he breathed.
I nodded. “No problem.” I was made uncomfortable by the werewolf’s display of emotion.
Damien's eyes were misty. “I’d like to go see my villa. Please give me half an hour at most.”
“Sure,” I said. I twisted my feet in the rich soil.
Suddenly, there was a crack of bones, and Damien doubled over. Fur sprouted over his body, springing through his skin, and his face elongated, teeth sharpening.
I screamed.
Samael steadied me. “It's fine, he's just shifting.”
I watched in morbid fascination. The transformation was grotesque. Within moments Damien was half-man, half-wolf, with the same glowing, golden eyes. He gave a feral grin and took off, disappearing into the brush.
“Do you know where he's going?” I asked, curious.
Samael scratched his chin. “Absolutely no idea.”
We mulled around for half an hour, chatting. Samael grilled me about my artistic ability, and I admitted I was working on a painting of my interpretation of Phenex:
“I know he's not literally a peacock, but I'm playing with light in the painting, trying to incorporate solar imagery into the work,” I said.
“No, he’s pretty much a peacock, albeit golden and orange,” Samael said.
Something disturbed the underbrush. I looked to see that Damien, in werewolf form, had returned. He grinned, revealing sharp teeth, and transformed back into his human form.
Damien was wistful. “If only I could stay here. But I can feel my vitality dwindling – I guess that's what happens when an immortal is far away from humanity.” He sighed and looked to the Reaper. “Samael, is it possible to realign the doorway between Earth and Pan's woods?”
Samael scratched his brow. “It would take work, that's for sure.” He scrutinized me. I flinched under his calculating gaze. “But with an ascendant, many things are possible.”
Damien smiled quietly. “Let's go. I've got a security detail to run.”
I went to an olive tree with a large whorl in its bark that Samael pointed out, pressed my petersword to it, and opened the portal. We crossed over to Pandemonium's border, with Sam
ael leading the way. He stopped dead in his tracks, and I bumped into him, stubbing my toe.
“Ow!” I yelped. “What is it?” I squinted in the darkness to see.
Samael ignored me. “Beelzebub’s balls, literally this time,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
In the glow of the strange, blue fireflies that hovered in the canopy, I could make out the white-haired demon from Damien's bar. Beelzebub's fly wings glistened in the moonlight, and his eyes simmered. “Coming to get you for the midnight toast at Asmodeus'. I was hoping to discuss business with you afterward – there's a backup of souls in the Styx due to you neglecting your reaper duties – but apparently, you've been busy.” Beelzebub's eyed me coldly. “I saw her summon a portal. Your supposed concubine is an ascendant, and you've kept it from the archdemons. I knew you were selfish, but something of this magnitude – no, I shouldn't have put it past you.”
Samael balled his hands into fists. “It has nothing to do with selfishness,” he said through gritted teeth. “I'm trying to keep her safe.”
“From me?” Beelzebub's lips curled. “Asmodeus and the others, I can understand. But Samael, I'm your right hand man, your general. I guard your back during war and serve you in times of peace. Surely you don't suspect me of ulterior motives.”
“We all have ulterior motives,” Samael said. “And I do trust you. But Shannon's the only hope we have. If she’s lost, Hell is lost. I've waited a long time for an ascendant.”
Beelzebub tucked his hands into his pockets. “Then let me help.”
“Wait,” I said. “How is Hell lost without me?”
Beelzebub narrowed his eyes. “Our politics don’t concern you. All that matters is that you obey us.”
I crossed my arms. “Hey, fly eyes? I’m not going to help you if you’re an ass.”
Beelzebub buzzed with irritation. “You’re a tool. Nothing more. Be grateful you’re not in shackles.”
“Suck a carcass, you oversized flea,” I said. I launched at him, aiming to place a well-deserved slap on his face.
Samael restrained me. “See why I didn’t introduce you two properly?” he said.
Beelzebub stepped forward, a hair’s breadth from me. I struggled against Samael’s grip. The red-eyed demon smiled thinly, daring to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “The only carcass I’ll be feeding on is yours if you so much as lay a hand on me,” he said. “I am Baal Zebub, lord of souls. I can keep you alive until you’re slivers of flesh, or grind your bones down to salt my meat.”
I spat in his face. “I don’t care who you are. No one talks to me like I’m less than them.”
Samael dragged me away from him. “Beel, what the hell? That’s no way to treat an ascendant.”
Damien growled: “Lay a hand on Shannon and I’ll sic my pack on you.”
Beelzebub’s lips curled. He looked at Samael and Damien with disapproval. “If we put her on a pedestal, she will turn on us. All this girl is is a means to an end.” He straightened his jacket. “I will help her, but do not expect me to respect her. Humans have caused us enough grief throughout the millennia.”
“We’ve caused you grief? We’re not the ones that enslave humans!” I said. “How many Claimed do you have, Beelzebub?”
“None,” the fly-demon said. “The practice disgusts me. I have no desire to associate with the race that defiled Earth.”
“You’re the demon, not me.”
Beelzebub’s eyes burned. “Did we dredge a hole in the ozone layer? Destroy the natural beauty of your planet? Endanger hundreds of species and spoil your God-given heritage? I think not. My Father gave you all, and your kind treated His gifts like an arrogant child.” Beelzebub checked his watch. “Lecturing this girl on the past is a waste of my time. Call me when you need me. I have to drive my wife home.” And with that, Beelzebub dissolved into a swarm of flies and darted off into the woods.
Samael released me. “Who would marry that jerk?” I said.
Samael snorted. “Astaroth. They’re disgustingly enamored.” Death smoothed his hair. “I’m sorry for the way he treated you. Beelzebub has an inherent distrust of humans. Mostly because they swat so many of his flies.”
Damien ground his fist into his palm. “I can’t stand that insect. Samael, you have horrible taste in friends.”
“True, but what does that say about you?” Samael paused. “Actually, don’t answer that.” He turned to me. “It’s been a long night. Let’s get you home.”
“But am I safe? Now that that creep knows I’m an ascendant?” I said.
“Who? Beel?” Samael asked. “Oh, you’re fine. He’s all bark and no bite. It’s past his bedtime, that’s why he’s so vicious.”
I was highly skeptical of that, but bit back my words. We returned to Samael’s mansion, minus Damien, and I changed into my clothes and traveled back to Trothman Hall.
It was jarring, returning to an early Virginian evening from a late night in Hell. I wiped sweat from my brow and made my way to my dorm, guided by the swollen moon. Rosanna was strumming chords on Vibora, her electric guitar, when I entered the room. She glanced up from the fret board, smiling.
“Hey. You look angry. Something wrong?” my roommate said as she finger-picked a melody.
I sighed, sinking into my plush pink chair. “It’s nothing. I just met a jerk in the, erm, woods.”
“Oh, on the trails you go running on every night?”
“Um, sure. He’s so arrogant. I wanted to smack him.”
Rosanna’s lips curled in distaste. “Ew, was he a frat bro? Is that why he had such attitude?”
“I… don’t know. Whatever, it doesn’t matter – he’s gone. Let me listen to you play.” I nodded, encouraging her.
Rosanna adjusted the tension of the strings. “Sure. It’s about La Llorona – the weeping ghost.”
“That’s a light topic.”
Rosanna shrugged. “You know I’m into creepy stories.” She picked a haunting arpeggio, letting her voice fill the room. The song was in Spanish, and though I could barely understand it, it was beautiful. After a few minutes, Rosanna finished. She smiled shyly. “So, what did you think?”
“It was gorgeous, as always.” In truth, I was blown away. “So, do you believe in ghost stories? I thought it was just a hobby of yours.”
Rosanna took the shoulder strap of her guitar off and unplugged Vibora from its amp. Gingerly, she hung it on the wall. “Well,” she said slowly, “you know my abuela was into folk healing, and I saw some odd things around her, back when my family used to visit her in Mexico. So I don’t know. Are ghosts real? Maybe. I just like the idea of them.” Rosanna unzipped her leather boots and flopped onto her unmade bed. “What do you think?”
I paused. If death incarnate was real, what about ghosts? “I don’t know. Maybe we become something else when we die.”
“Hmm,” Rosanna said. “I guess that makes sense. You know, my mother always said my abuelo haunted our house. She claimed he played with the radio and whistled at night. I never saw him, but I did hear the whistling-”
There was an urgent knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called.
Divya entered, breathless. She trembled. “I saw something in the woods,” she said. “I – I don’t know what it was. It looked like a big dog, but it had red eyes.” She laughed faintly. “I sound crazy, don’t I?”
I paled. “Was it black?”
She nodded. “How did you know?”
“Because I’ve seen them before,” I said. “Where were you in the woods?”
“Out – out by the lake. I’m scared. What if I’m hallucinating?” Divya twirled a silver ring around her finger, anxious.
“You’re not,” I said.
Rosanna rose from her bed. “Whoa, it sounds like a cadejo,” she said. “Some say they’re devils. They look like black dogs.”
“You know about them?” I asked, surprised.
“My mom used to tell stories about the cadejo. They all ended b
adly.” Rosanna’s eyes glimmered. “You’ve seen them before, Shannon?”
I quickly lied. “Um, yeah. In a movie.”
Rosanna grabbed a flashlight from her desk. “We have to go find it!” she said. “Let’s try to take a picture with our phones.”
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