Donny's Inferno

by P. W. Catanese

Angela looked down at the creature. “Do I know you?”

  “A clue,” the imp said. He pointed at the rubble. “Who killed Sooth. A clue. In there.”

  Angela stiffened, and stared at the jumble of stone. “You know who killed Sooth?”

  The gnarled imp shook his head and pointed again. “A clue. Who killed Sooth. In there.”

  Donny saw her jaw slide back and forth as she considered this news. “Arglbrgl,” she finally said.

  “ARGLBRGL?”

  “Take Tizzy and Donny home. Make sure they’re safe.”

  “I want to stay,” Donny said.

  Angela looked at him sideways.

  “Please,” Donny said.

  “Fine,” she replied. “Arglbrgl, take Tizzy home.”

  “GRBRGL.”

  “No!” shouted Tizzy. But Arglbrgl took her by the hand and led her away.

  “Echo, you stay with me and Donny.”

  “Stay.”

  Angela nodded at the imp. “Okay. Show us.”

  The imp plunged into the rubble, using hands and feet to climb over the chunks of marble. They followed him over the piles, out of sight of the street. The imp was nimble, Angela moved like a panther, and Echo was surprisingly agile given his bulk. Donny tried to keep up but quickly fell behind.

  “In there,” the gnarled imp said. He waved for Angela to follow. “Who killed Sooth.” They disappeared over another heap of stone. Donny tried to move faster but stumbled and fell, bruising his knee. He had to wait a minute for the pain to subside before he could limp on.

  When he finally made it to the top of the heap, he looked over and saw the other three descending into a pit. It looked as if there had been a circular cellar down there. The ceiling had caved in, and there was no exit aside from the narrow stairs that curved along the edge. At the bottom of the pit Donny saw a small pile of belongings. There was a bloody cloth, a wooden box, and what looked like a butcher’s knife.

  Donny frowned. His heartbeat quickened, and it wasn’t just from the exertion. Something felt wrong about all of this. The evidence at the bottom of the cellar seemed too obvious. It might as well have had a fishhook stuck through it.

  He looked around them, to see if some enemy might be hidden among the stones. There were a thousand corners and crevices. The remains of the building were visible all around—some smashed furniture, and ceramic pipes that must have carried water through the structure at some point. One large pipe was directly across from him, and its jagged broken end stuck out over the edge of the pit.

  He stared at the pipe. It looked like the barrel of a gun.

  Angela was at the bottom of the pit, along with the gnarled imp and Echo. She suddenly seemed to realize that Donny wasn’t with her, because her head snapped up. When she saw him, she relaxed and waved. “Keep a lookout,” she said.

  Donny didn’t wave back. He said, “I don’t like this.”

  Angela didn’t seem to hear him. She picked the knife up with her gloved hand, between her thumb and a finger. Then she tapped the wooden box with a toe. “What’s in there?” he heard her ask.

  “A clue,” said the imp, his head bobbing.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t open that,” Donny called down, and then a noise caught his attention. It sounded like something heavy had shifted on the other side of the pit. He stared in that direction, trying to see what might have caused it. Then came a scraping sound.

  “Something’s happening up here,” he called out.

  The scraping sound came again, louder this time. Then came a dull roar, and suddenly the pipe was filled with orange light. A river of liquid flames gushed out and poured into the pit.

  “Angela!” he screamed. He caught one final glimpse of her as the liquid flames filled the space between them. The last he saw was her looking up as the fire rained down.

  Donny pressed his knuckles into his temples and screamed her name over and over. Everything the flames touched, they burned, even the stone around the edge of the cellar, which melted like wax. The fire finally burned through the pipe itself, and chunks of it rained into the cellar. Donny fell to his hands and knees as waves of heat flowed up from the depths, rippling his clothes and hair. He still tried to scream her name, but it had turned into a mangled, heartsick croak.

  He didn’t know if it was in his head or real, but he could have sworn he heard a burst of hysterical laughter from the other side of the pit, quickly suppressed.

  Choking and sobbing, he peered down again. Whatever form of fire this was—the flames of destruction or annihilation or some new distillation—it was hungry and destructive. The liquid flame had stopped flowing and was pooled at the bottom. Finally it burned away and revealed the terrible truth. Donny saw the huge, lifeless, blackened bulk of Echo, a creature born to dwell in fire, but not strong enough to withstand this terrible flame. He looked around the edges of the cellar, hoping to see a door, a tunnel, a hiding place, anything. But there was no escape from that pit. Of Angela and the gnarled imp, there was nothing left at all.

  CHAPTER 43

  Donny bent over, his forehead touching the ground, his hands clasped behind his head. He rocked back and forth.

  Finally he lifted his head and stared out through the blur of his own tears. Someone was there. It was an imp he’d never seen before, broad and muscular, only a few strides away, ready to grab him.

  Donny’s hand closed on a brick-size chunk of marble. He got to his knees and hurled it at the imp with a hoarse but savage cry. It hit the imp in the chest, but that only caused the imp to stagger back for a moment before he advanced again. Donny turned to run, only to find another wicked-looking imp right behind him.

  He darted to the left to dodge the second imp, but ­powerful hands seized him from behind and pulled him off the ground. Donny kicked behind him with his heels, striking the imp in the legs over and over again, to no effect. A hand clapped over Donny’s mouth, and then liquid splashed over his face. The world dimmed, and his vision darkened at the edges, shrinking to a tiny circle and winking out.

  CHAPTER 44

  Donny woke slowly. He became aware of a rumbling sound, and a motion that rocked him from side to side. I’m in a chariot, he thought. He opened his eyes, but it was dark, and when he felt his own warm breath rebounding on his face, he knew he’d been wrapped inside a cloth, bundled tight.

  He wriggled his hand near his face, pushed the rough fabric aside, and was able to look out. The stony ground went by in a blur. Ahead he saw the mound of rock Havoc called home, smoldering like a tiny volcano. When he twisted his neck around, he saw the imp driving the chariot. He recognized that brute. It was the thorn-faced imp who served as Havoc’s bodyguard.

  A face appeared above his, inches away. It was Butch, with his thick waxed mustache, murderous eyes, and grin of a madman. “Look who’s up!” the Jolly Butcher cried.

  The chariot rolled to a stop. Butch hopped down while the thorn-faced imp lifted Donny, still wrapped in cloth but with his head partly out.

  “Help!” Donny screamed.

  “Yes, help! Somebody help!” Butch shouted. He put a finger across Donny’s lips, but pulled it back when Donny tried to bite it. “Might as well hush!” Butch told him. “Nobody comes around here but us.”

  He walked to the iron-banded door that guarded ­Havoc’s lair and unlocked it, and then came back. The thorn-faced imp tossed Donny over Butch’s shoulder. Donny shouted some more and looked for anyone who might help. The only other figures he glimpsed were two more nasty imps atop Havoc’s volcanic mound, serving as guards and lookouts.

  “I hope you like it in here,” Butch said as they went inside. “You may never leave.”

  Donny went numb. He’d spent all the energy he had left on his cries for help. Butch pulled the door shut behind them and locked it again from the inside.

  The place was a fortress, hacked from pock
marked volcanic rock. Butch carried him deep inside, past other rooms. One on the left looked like the dining hall of some Victorian mansion, with a long table, elegant chairs, and a candelabrum as a centerpiece. On the right there was something like a study, with old hand-lettered texts on a broad desk. Other doors were closed. Donny was carried past them all and into a vast hollow space in the center of the cone. There Butch dropped him to the ground and tugged hard at the cloth so that Donny tumbled roughly out onto the floor. Butch grabbed him by the armpits and pulled him to his feet, where Donny wobbled unsteadily, still dizzy from whatever potion had knocked him out.

  Donny rolled his head left and right and looked at the nightmare he’d been trapped inside. It was like the belly of a volcano past its prime, and it was filled with objects that made it feel like a cross between a laboratory and a torture chamber.

  There were niches carved from the walls and covered with bars. Only the mummified remains of infernal creatures, and maybe a human being or two, remained inside. Weapons of all sorts were mounted on the stone walls. The machinery scattered everywhere looked familiar somehow, and Donny remembered where he’d seen the like before: at the refinery. There were thick pipes embedded in the ground, connected to thinner horizontal pipes that ended in spigots. Smoke leaked from the pipes and from cracks in the floor. In the center of the chamber, a spout of flame danced from a deep, glowing crevice, big enough for a car to disappear inside. High overhead, Donny saw an opening in the cone. That space had been secured with a grid of iron bars.

  Butch whistled merrily and shoved him in the chest with two hands. Donny stumbled into a chair that struck him in the back of his knees, causing him to fall into the seat. There were iron cuffs on the arms of the chair, and Butch clapped them down over Donny’s wrists. Then Butch patted Donny on the head and stepped aside.

  Donny heard footsteps behind him. Havoc appeared in his human form, dressed like someone out of a Shakespearean play, wearing buckled shoes, black leggings, and a ruffled white shirt with billowing sleeves. He carried a stool that he then set down in front of Donny.

  Havoc reached for Donny’s hand and turned it palm up. With the hint of a smirk, he traced Angela’s mark with a warm fingernail. “Property of Angela Obscura. Do you miss her already? Were you very fond of her?”

  Donny didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of answering the question. “What do you even want with me?” he asked quietly.

  “Not much,” Havoc said. “Just a chat before we say good-bye.”

  “You killed Angela,” Donny said quietly. “And Echo. And that other imp—he helped you, and you killed him, too.”

  “Yes. That other imp—what was his name, Butch?”

  “Marbo,” said the Jolly Butcher. “What a fine job he did!”

  Havoc nodded. “A worthy imp who believed in our cause. Marbo thought his job was to bring Angela to the pit and show her that evidence. He was not smart enough to lie, so it was better that he did not know what was going to happen.”

  Donny squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to picture that moment. “You’re horrible.”

  “Sacred duty sometimes requires sacrifice,” Havoc said. He crossed one leg over the other and clasped his hands on top of his knee. “Throughout all history, mortal and infernal, horrible things have been done in the pursuit of noble goals. What nation are you from, boy? Surely, your country has waged its share of battles and dropped its share of bombs. And why? For your beliefs.

  “You call this act horrible because you were Angela’s possession. You were under her spell, and so you embraced her point of view. But others who see more clearly disagree. To those who think like me, Hell must be returned to its righteous state, at any price.”

  “Not that. You shouldn’t have done that,” Donny said.

  “Thousands died in the war between the Merciless and these reformers, on both sides. I lost my parents to that senseless conflict. The home where my ancestors dwelled for millennia was destroyed, along with too many other magnificent buildings. Compared to that, Angela’s death is insignificant.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Donny whispered.

  “Poor boy,” Havoc said. He patted Donny’s knee. “Don’t think me a monster. I understand your feelings. Angela was a charming and clever creature—I can’t deny that. But she had to go. For the good of Sulfur. The ­trouble with Angela was that she was so obscenely persuasive. She could talk the council into anything. Putting out the Pit of Fire—such an abomination. We discarded thousands of years of tradition in the name of what? Some misguided mercy? Well, soon the council will meet again, without Angela’s interference. And there will be a motion to return to the old ways. We will make peace with the Merciless, beyond the barricade. And then I know, in my heart, Lucifer will come back to us.”

  Donny tried to talk, but could barely move his lips. The words came out soft and jumbled.

  “What was that?” Havoc said. He turned an ear to Donny’s mouth. “What did you say?”

  Donny took a breath, gathered his strength, and spoke louder. “You won’t win. There are still more on Angela’s side. In the council.”

  Havoc leaned back and grinned. “You really don’t understand how these things work, do you? Politics and alliances? Angela held that coalition together with the force of her personality. I can name two council members who will change their minds about the pit tomorrow without Angela there to keep them convinced. I can assure you, it won’t be long until the dead are back in flames. As it was always meant to be, forever and ever.”

  Donny raised his face and finally looked Havoc in the eyes. “When they learn that Angela’s gone, they’ll know it was you.”

  Havoc leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Will they? They might suspect, but there won’t be any proof. It’s important to cover one’s tracks in these situations. To leave no one behind to tell their tales. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Donny knew exactly what Havoc meant, and it sent a chill up his spine. Havoc’s smile flattened into a straight tight line. “I’m very upset with you, testifying before the council the way you did.”

  “It was true, though. You destroyed the dome.”

  Havoc put a hand beside his mouth and whispered like a stage actor. “Do you know what the trouble with secret plots is? You don’t get to talk about them, even when they work, because nobody is supposed to know. But you and I can talk now, can’t we? Because you’re not going to tell anyone else. Will he Butch?”

  “I don’t see how!” Butch said, from somewhere behind Donny.

  “I had helpers, obviously,” Havoc said. “The shreeks who carried the fire to the ceiling. My spies in the refinery. Others who believe in the cause. The destruction of the dome was a fine plan. It was a grand gesture, a sign of destiny. If most of the council members were slain, there was a good chance that those who took their places would be of a better mind. When that failed, removing Angela from the picture seemed like the next best thing.”

  While Havoc was talking, Butch had begun pacing around the chamber, mumbling to himself. Now he appeared over Havoc’s shoulder.

  “Can I have him now?” Butch said.

  “In a moment,” Havoc replied over his shoulder. Then he turned to peer at Donny again. “I promised Butch he could have you. After all he’s done for me recently, he deserves a reward.” Donny shut his eyes and ground his teeth together. He heard Butch clap his hands and give a swinish squeal of glee.

  Donny’s head jerked as Havoc gripped him around the jaw and stared into his eyes. “Tell me something. Are you frightened, little mortal?” He waited for a response, but Donny gave him nothing.

  “Hmm,” Havoc said. He tugged up his leggings on one side, and Donny saw a battered band of gold around his ankle. It looked like Angela’s bracelet, with the same sort of marking.

  There was a clasp on the band. Havoc undid the clasp and set the b
and aside. Donny knew what would happen, but he still barely kept himself from screaming. Starting from the ankle, Havoc’s skin transformed. Flesh became scales, layered like shingles. Havoc stood tall, holding his arms out. His shape altered beneath his clothes, and fabric ripped at the seams. Donny saw the transformation reach his hands, beyond the sleeves, deepening in color and turning to snakeskin. A sound like bones crunching came from his face and his jaw. A pair of horns sprouted on his temples, pointed back, and a second pair grew forth from his jaw.

  “How about now?” he said to Donny. A three-pointed tongue stuck from his mouth and rattled in the air an inch from Donny’s face. “Are you frightened now?”

  CHAPTER 45

  Havoc looked over his shoulder at the Jolly Butcher. “Butch, bring me the jar, will you? You know the jar I mean.”

  Butch giggled and skipped away on his errand.

  Havoc waved a hand at the room around him. “This was once a refinery, until the flames thinned out,” he said. “But I kept a small operation here, and produced special varieties for my own entertainment.”

  Butch returned with a jar made of black glass, stopped with cork and wax, and handed it to Havoc. Donny saw flames trapped inside the jar. They slithered and writhed like octopus tentacles. “Have you ever felt the truest fire, Donny? The Flames of Torment? Did Angela include that in your education?”

  Donny stared at the jar and shook his head. He felt prickly beads of sweat spring up along his hairline.

  Havoc propped the jar on one hand and used the other to peel the wax away from the edge of the cork. “It’s a miracle, this stuff. Able to produce the most exquisite agony without the slightest damage. The dead could bathe in it forever, and the pain would never lessen.” He pulled the cork from the jar. Havoc put his fingers near the edge, and the flames seemed to sense the movement. They struck like cobras and curled around his hand. “Of course, it has little effect on infernal folk. To me it’s as pleasant as a warm bath. No, it’s the mortals who suffer from the Flames of Torment. The dead ones . . . and also the living.”