Hell's Gates (Urban Fantasy)

by Celia Kyle

  I stared down at the remnants of my portal, trying to decide if I should summon another dem for answers. Maybe dig a little deeper this time. But odds were, I’d end up with another dead end. Something big and bad was going on Down Below. Something big enough that even a little imp—the lowest of the low—knew what was what.

  I didn’t know who—or what—but I had a gut feeling someone was making a move on my domain.

  Let ‘em try. If any dems tried to set even one hell-painted foot inside Orlando, there was going to be hell to pay.

  4

  Everyone was asleep at Momma R’s by the time I made it back dusty, dirty, and sporting more than a little soot from the fires of Hell. The stink of sulfur stuck to my skin, Hell leaving its nasty-stank-ass rotten egg scent on me. Blech.

  The back door automatically opened for me, a nice little bit of magic I appreciated since I’d left with a ton of weapons and no house keys. Nice.

  I tugged off my boots near the door, quietly placing them on the rag rug Momma R made a couple hundred years ago. The woman hated throwing anything out. A little soot dropped off the toe of my boot and I bent to wipe it off, thankful Blooming Aster dropped a few cleaning spells in this house in addition to my own.

  I turned left, quietly making my way to the kitchen, finding Papa Finn at the counter, scanning every can, baby bottle, and jar of baby food he’d found. I settled into one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table, content to watch my father work. He snagged a beer out of the fridge for me, giving it a once over with his rod—that sounded really gross—and then handed it over.

  “I take it things didn’t go well?” He took a sip of his beer.

  I snorted and ruffled my hair, bits of dirt raining on the counter. “Not so much. Didn’t learn a thing from the imp and Mom showed up.” I cracked open my beer and took a healthy swig, emptying half the thing down my throat. “That woman drives me insane.” I sighed. “Seriously Papa, I don’t understand how you ever got involved with her. Didn’t she drive you crazy? With all the evil and the hate?”

  Papa Finn laid his dowsing rod on the counter and came to sit across from me. “That’s a simple question with a complicated answer.”

  “Is ‘complicated’ parent code for ‘pain in the ass’?” I raised my eyebrows.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You know your mother and I didn’t have a normal relationship. None of us did. A woman using dark magic to combine— “

  “Wait.” I held up my hand. “Please spare me the details of my conception. I’m just like J-dawg upstairs—immaculate conception and nothing you say can change that.”

  Papa Finn, an old unicorn who’d been around the block a few times, blushed and lowered his eyes. “All I’m saying is your mother didn’t choose me out of some misplaced search for love or devotion. I had traits she wanted and I’ve always been grateful to be a part of your life, to watch you grow. But for me, everything was about you, not her. The way she is?” He shrugged. “I never tried to find a reason. I just loved you as hard as I could and hoped that we all managed not to ruin you too badly.”

  The soft smile I got beat back some of the anger and rage still pulsing in my veins, the whole “love conquering evil” thing in full effect. I swirled the beer around the bottom of the bottle, watching the liquid swish around. “I’m a little like her, you know? I mean, I’m like you guys too, but she’s still there. The woman who is quite possibly the worst mother ever is a big part of me.” I took another sip. “And I don’t know what it means to be a mother. There’s no man in my life to offset all my bullshit and make sure Bry’s raised right. How am I supposed to be a mother? I’m not even qualified. I didn’t play baby dolls with other kids. I lit them on fire.”

  Papa Finn grinned, rubbing his inner forearm and probably remembering that day. Bonus to him being a unicorn? A quick shift took care of that little third-degree burn. He pointed down the hall, where my son lay. “You love that little boy. You love him as much as if he were your own flesh and blood. That’s something your mother has never felt and it’s all you need to take care of him—to be his mother.”

  I scoffed. “If that were true, he wouldn’t be sick.” I rested my elbows on the table. “I love him with all of my heart, as much as I can, but I don’t know if I can do this. I’ll kill anything, fight until I’m dead and gone, to keep him safe. I’ll provide him the best of everything. But what if I can’t make him better?”

  He gave me a sad smile and shook his head. “Little Bell,” I groaned at the nickname but he ignored me. Apparently, when I was a kid, my laugh was as pure as snow and tinkled like a bell. I think he was high on something when he came up with that nickname. “Do you think it’s any different for human mothers? Plenty find themselves in situations like this, facing illness that they don’t know how to handle. It’s natural to feel powerless, but you’re doing everything you can. In the long run, that’s all that matters.”

  Right. If only that made this terror disappear. “I’m scared.”

  I’d faced green-eyed zombies, a killer crocodile, and losing my mate nearly all at once and didn’t even flinch. But this… This was different.

  He looked me in the eye. “I think that on some level, you’re more scared about your relationship with him. That one day, after he’s grown, he’s going to look at you the same way you look at your mother. You can’t bear the thought of him hating you like that.”

  I stared at the tabletop, fingers tracing the fine grain of the wood. I wasn’t going to tell him he was right.

  Because I couldn’t stand my mother, not today and not when I was younger. I remembered the way she’d treated me, and it filled me with horror.

  And on some level, I was capable of the same things. I thought back to the fight in the bar, right before I got the call about Bry. I’d been itching and twitchy, eager for a fight and ready to inflict pain.

  For no other reason than boredom. Nice.

  What kind of person did that make me? What kind of mother? I didn’t want to believe I could ever take pleasure in my son’s pain the way my mother enjoyed mine. But I did find enjoyment in the agonizing cry of others. My mother’s blood, her influence, was deep inside of me, twined around my soul and filling my veins. It was far too easy to look at her and see my future reflected there.

  “How do I do better? How do I just… not?”

  “By trying.” He said the two words as if they were the answer to the universe. “No one is perfect and it’s foolish to try, but you know what your problems are and you can face them.”

  “Really?” Because that sounded a little like getting a participation medal for soccer.

  He gave me a wry grin. “Why not? I know you, Caith Belinha Morningstar. You have your dark side, but you got a lot from me and your fathers, as well. You have everything it takes to raise this child right.”

  I sniffled, but I wasn’t crying, bless it. I stood and padded around the table, not stopping until I was in Papa Finn’s arms, hugging him tightly. He was always the most sensible of my dads, the one who taught me I had some good inside me.

  Yes, in me. Satan’s niece.

  Papa Finn finished checking over the house, just the case of water being the only thing infected with whatever the hell was going on. I locked the door behind him and then went to Bry, anxious to be near my sweet boy. His face remained flushed and hot, the fever still gripping him tightly.

  I laid beside him, careful not to disturb the charms that surrounded is small body, and brushed his hair off his face. “I’m gonna take care of you, little guy. Tempmomma promises.”

  When I’d first rescued him, I’d dubbed myself “tempmomma.” It hadn’t felt right to try and take his mother’s place so soon after he was left an orphan. I hoped that when he started talking, he’d drop the “temp” portion of my name.

  Because he was mine. Period. No amount of magic, violence, or death was going to take this boy from me.

  Looking down at him as he lay on the soft carpet, I couldn
’t imagine ever hurting him. I couldn’t imagine finding joy in his heartache.

  Maybe… maybe Papa Finn was right. I wasn’t my mother. I wasn’t Vesperia Matilda Morningstar. (Yes, I gave my mother a horribad middle name, too.)

  Sure, I was a hellfire-forged bitch who would tear apart anyone who crossed me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a softer, nurturing side. I’d proven that over the past year with Bryony.

  I curled up, forming a “C” around him, and struggled to push my worries aside long enough to get some sleep.

  5

  My eyes were barely open when I pulled into the parking lot at the bar. I’d hardly gotten any sleep, jerking awake every time Bry breathed funny. I chugged three cups of coffee before even leaving Momma R’s, but they hadn’t made a dent in my exhaustion. I hated the idea of leaving Bry, but I needed to be in the bar, digging out information and grilling the tweens who crossed the threshold. I was even ready to rough up an angel—gel—or two if necessary.

  I’d called in favors, tapped on Manon’s coffin, called my werewolf ex on his cell phone and stopped by Truck, the troll’s, bridge and asked him to let me know what he heard while he was hanging out.

  Now I waited.

  Jezze followed me to the front door and I stuck the key in the lock, brushing my finger over the runes etched into the metal before twisting. The wards fell away, and I shoved the door open, letting the regulars file in while I took up the rear. I joined the witch behind the bar, pouring drinks and taking care of opening business as usual.

  Everyone who bellied up to the bar was asked the same questions. Had they heard about anything strange going down? Anyone else sick? What’s the word going around Hell?

  A few had heard mumblings, but none had any real clue. Why had I kicked demons out, again? I was kinda regretting that choice.

  Oh. Right. It was because my uncle held my mate’s angel feather, basically keeping him captive. My mate who killed to save me, which was what sent him spiraling down the path to evil. My mate who lost that last, tiny spark of good by blessing Bryony.

  All those reasons — that’s why I kicked demons out.

  Wait! My mom had way too many giggles over the whole situation, too. That was the “get fucked” cherry on top.

  I wasn’t going to lose it. I wasn’t. Not now anyway. There was no telling what’d happen later.

  I managed a smile for one of my regulars. Dick D was a surly old dwarf with a bad attitude who didn’t take shit from anyone. Ever.

  “Heya, Dick.” I poured him a shot of whiskey; good stuff to start, swill once he had his drink on. He also absolutely hated being called Dick. With his given name being Richidenorin, I’d shortened the mouthful to Richard, then Rich, then Dick.

  He hated them all. It was what made things fun.

  “Where y’off to?” He curled his lip and grumbled.

  “Me?” I caught the glassy look in his dark, deep-set eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Dick. Got a business to run.”

  “Late. Fucking late.”

  I frowned at him, silently wondering if he’d tossed back a few before he came to the bar. “Late for what?”

  “Because I said so, that’s why!” he snapped, shaking his meaty fist. Except… he wasn’t shaking it at me. He wasn’t even looking at me.

  I followed his glass gaze and realized he was having a very heated discussion… with the beer taps.

  “You’ve pulled this before! You have!” Another shout, more glaring at the taps, and he slammed his hands on the bar. “Don’t think I’m not onto your bullshit.”

  “Dick, man, have a seat.” I dropped my bar rag, leaving my hands free. “I think you’ve had a few too many. Lemme grab you a cup of coffee.” I’d never heard of a dwarf that couldn’t hold his liquor—especially not Dick—but I supposed there was a first time for everything.

  He kept shouting at the taps, ignoring me, and I wondered if he even saw me.

  If anyone saw me. Because Dick wasn’t the only one.

  An elf in the corner was having a super serious discussion about quantum physics… with a wooden pillar. A couple of goblins couldn’t decide who’d fathered the bowl of peanuts sitting between them. I stared at a troll near the front door while he shoved his table back and got into a fistfight with the framed and autographed Miami Dolphins jersey hanging on the wall.

  (There was a certain Man Darino who was actually a sprightly pixie-demon and played for them for a while.)

  A few other patrons jumped to their feet and then it was all punches all the time. At each other, at empty air, a chair here and there, and one even dropped to the floor and punched the polished concrete. I was confused, but doing okay with the weird turn the day had taken, until they started throwing things.

  Particularly, a chair that sailed past my head and smashed into the liquor racks at my back.

  “Not cool, man.” I reached beneath the bar and wrapped my fingers around my new bat. “Really not cool.”

  “Caith,” Jezze tried to sound all warning-y. “They’re not in their right heads.” A beer bottle zipped through the air and Jezze deflected it with a small gesture and a flash of light.

  “Well, they might not have heads much longer, so it doesn’t matter.” I hefted the bat over my shoulder. “I can’t deal with this shit in my bar. Especially not today.”

  I placed one hand on the counter and vaulted over the high bar, thumping back to the ground between two stools. The fights kept going, no one noticing me as I moved through the raucous crowd. I deflected a chair and dodged a punch, waiting to unleash myself for now.

  Truck kicked out at me and I blocked it with my bat, the wood crumbling beneath the strength of the troll’s strike. I glared at him, but it was like he didn’t recognize me. Dammit. Now I was starting to feel bad. These were my regulars, sun up to sun down kind of guys. Most of the time, I wouldn’t hesitate to hand out a beat down, but when Charlie asked me if I was Jesus, I knew they weren’t in control of themselves. It had to be the same shit that infected Bry. I didn’t know if they’d drunk the same tainted water or if my liquor supply had somehow been affected. Either way, my customers were out of their heads on crazy demon juice.

  And I needed to put on my “don’t kill them” pants and take it easy on ‘em, only focusing on subduing the worst of the tweeners. I might not have much of a conscience, but that little bit of unicorn blood combined with my love of all living things from Papa Eron made me feel guilty about hurting innocents.

  So, instead of burning Truck to a crisp, I balled up my fist and clipped his jaw, knocking him out cold. One violent tween down, a good dozen-plus to go. I ignored the elf bitching that he was the one behind Niels Bohr’s research and taught him all there was to know about atoms… using donuts.

  I didn’t…

  Unfortunately, to the right of him were two dryads, tree sprites, fighting over who was going to claim the pretty oak with it’s perfectly square design. The Treeson twins—Flora and Fiona—weren’t the strongest branches in the brain department on the best of days.

  The support beams in my bar weren’t oak and not all of them were actual wood. The one they glared at was actually just wood paneling secured to a concrete post.

  I forced a smile to my lips, frantically trying to remember where else I’d placed weapons in the bar. Dryads were the ultimate chick fighters with pointy fingernails made of the strongest woods in the tween. Woods. Plural. They took on the characteristics of every tree they’d ever inhabited and began traveling from tree to tree the moment they poofed into existence. (Yeah, there’s all this magicalness that goes with conception and birth, but I’d never paid attention in school.)

  “Ladies,” I used a cajoling tone. “I don’t think this is the, er, tree for either of you.”

  Their screeching cut off, and two heads slowly turned, their black eyes intent on me. Yeah, that didn’t work. The Treeson twins glared at me. Flora curled her lip and exposed her ebony teeth. Fiona cocked her hip, hand resting there whi
le her nails clicked out a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on her wood.

  “She wants the tree,” Flora, the elder of the dryads spoke.

  “She can’t have the tree,” Fiona added.

  “It’s our tree,” they spoke at the same time. Creepy.

  I held up my hands, begging for patience. One of my dads had to have given me some of that, right? “I’m not saying it’s not your tree. I’m just saying it might not be the tree for you.”

  “She isn’t listening,” Fiona started.

  “We should make her listen.” Flora channeled some weird, movie possessed human voice.

  I wasn’t going to kill the dryads with hellfire, I wasn’t.

  The two attacked at once, one aiming for my face, the other my mid-section. I jumped straight up, grasping the edges of a crossbeam and lifting my legs to avoid them. I might jiggle, but I had some solid core strength. The women fell past me, tumbling to the ground, and I lowered my legs slightly. A swing to the left and then right gave me some momentum that made it easier to throw myself up and onto the top of the wood until I straddled the beam.

  Flora and Fiona regained their feet and focused on me, both baring their wooden teeth and hissing at me as if they were cats.

  Flora’s body wavered in and out of sight while she transitioned to her spritely form, ready to travel within the wood that covered my place. Wood might have been the wrong choice for decorating Hell’s Chapel.

  Her new see-through status meant I needed to get a move on before I was suddenly faced with a pissed off dryad while fifteen feet above the floor. I hopped up, easily maintaining my balance on the eight-inch-wide post. The new position gave me a better view of the place, letting me see that I was needed in another corner of the bar. I glanced at the dryads and was relieved to find them fighting with each other again. This time over who’d kick my ass first.

  I scanned the beams, hunting for some of the weapons I’d hidden in carved out slots, and spied a pretty pair of swords one hop away. I crouched, ready to leap, and launched myself across the space. I was weightless for a moment, nothing supporting me, and then I thumped down on the hard wood, pin wheeling my arms to remain upright.