by Karen Mead
“Positive,” he said, picking up the rat and depositing him gently in his coat pocket. “Gotta go now. I’ll be back in time for my shift.”
“Where are you going?” Dwight asked.
“Hell.”
Then Dwight blinked, and Sam was already gone.
The two men stood silently for a few moments. “Err…do you think we were wrong to let him do that?” said Khalil. He looked guilty.
Dwight thought for a moment before he answered. “I think right and wrong are very complicated right now.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sam ended up on a dirt road, surrounded by ragged weeds. The sun was low in the sky, but that didn’t mean anything here; in fact, he was pretty sure it wasn’t a real sun. Just a knock-off of the original, designed to mimic a small star by a one very sad demon.
The only one around besides himself and his small companion was a wizened old woman, who was pulling an apple cart behind her some 100 feet to the north. He turned toward her, knowing his voice would carry farther in the strange air here than it would in reality.
“Excuse me, do you know where I can find Asmodeus?” he called. The old woman stopped moving briefly at the sound of his voice, but continued trudging along.
He sighed. “I’ll pull your cart for a while if you’ll tell me.”
At that she did turn around, gesturing him forward. He couldn’t see her face under her voluminous hood, and was pretty sure he didn’t want to. She gingerly moved aside, and he picked up the cart on his shoulders and began to move. It wasn’t hard; he knew that by design, it was just as heavy as its owner could possibly handle and not a smidgen more, but he wasn’t the cart’s owner. For him, it was light.
He almost made the mistake of saying he’d pull the cart until they passed a large stone further down the road, but caught himself in time. “I will pull this for 100 more steps, then you will tell me where to find Asmodeus.”
She nodded. It wasn’t a great deal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. If she held out for too much, he could abandon her and find another soul to query. At least this way, she got a few moments of rest.
When he had finished his labor, she pointed diagonally, back in the direction he had come and off to the left. He expected her voice to be gravelly with age, but when she sounded no older than Cassie, something in his stomach seemed to ache.
“Walk that way until the sky turns purple, then red. You will see three others.”
“Thank you,” he said, giving her back the cart and walking briskly back the way he had come. If he hadn’t talked to the woman, he would never have found where to go if he’d walked for a million years; here, you had to know where you were going in order to get there. Whether or not anything in this world had a fixed destination, or it was all relative, was something he had decided not to think about.
He gingerly stuck a hand in his pocket, only to be rewarded with a bite from the rat. “Really, John?” he said, then somehow managed to get his hand around the rodent’s middle and pick him up again. He arranged it so that the rat could see out of the top of his pocket, supporting himself on the outside flap with his paws. John swiveled his head to get a look at the scenery and shuddered.
“See, think of what this will do for you as an English teacher. You can read The Inferno and complain to your students that Dante’s version of Hell was all wrong,” he said. “This is a career-building experience.”
As he walked, the scenery changed. The scrubby weeds gave way to long purple grasses, then blue flowers. He passed a half-naked man pulling a heavy stone behind him.
One.
He thought of the old woman and her young voice, and frowned. Was that girl really only a teenager, and it was labor that had stooped her shoulders like that? Or had some demon allowed her to keep the lovely voice she had had as a youth, even as the rest of her body crumbled and decayed as she walked? The latter seemed far more likely.
Thinking of a teenager here made him think of Cassie again, and he had to stop himself from grinding his teeth while he walked. He would never let anyone take Cassie here; not even his father.
He passed a set of two pale-skinned boys, who were dragging a dead ox behind them via chains attached to their necks. The ox was missing a leg, but strangely had not attracted any flies.
“Nice rat,” one of them called out, and Sam nodded.
Two. Looks like it’s all draggers today.
The sky had turned a dusky purple, and again the scenery changed. This time, he was walking on a beautiful cobblestone road, with gardens on either side. The gardens were full of flowers, with blossoms in vibrant colors that didn’t exist side-by-side in the natural world. John leaned forward so he could get a better look.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you; if you fall out of my pocket, you’ll turn to ashes.”
At that, John snapped back, his tiny paws tightening their grip on Sam’s jacket pocket.
“Or I could be kidding. You’ll never know,” he said conversationally.
Why do I torment this guy, he wondered. John had been involved in a plot to kidnap Cassie once, but he had been nothing but a tool; besides, he was only human. And he had been helpful in getting her back, so Sam really had no reason to hold a grudge. He thought that Cassie might have had a crush on him at some point— maybe she still did—but was that really why he was always tempted to mess with the guy? Was he really that petty?
“I am exactly that petty,” he said out loud. “I know you’re thinking it, so I’ll just say it. I’m afraid you see only the worst of me, my friend.”
John made some squeaking noises, and though Sam couldn’t be sure exactly what the rat was trying to say, he was pretty sure that John was taking issue with the idea that there was anything but the worst to be seen.
They passed a man in a business suit, another dragger. The item he was dragging behind him, attached by a chain at his waist, was a lioness. The great animal mostly refused to move, forcing him to struggle for every inch forward, but she occasionally snapped at his legs; below his knees, his suit had been shredded to the point of nonexistence, and the muscles that should have made up his calves were dragging behind him, limp pieces of stringy meat, yet still he pressed on.
Three. I should be almost there.
A few minutes later, he walked over a footbridge next to a charming waterfall, and made his way to a long table with a blue satin cloth. There were glittering silver lights in the trees, and it felt like he was at the entrance to a country club on a summer evening; only the blood-red sky gave it away. A beautiful woman in a white evening gown was sitting behind the desk, but she wasn’t smiling.
“I’m here to see Asmodeus,” he told her. “I’m interested in seeing a prisoner of his.”
She seemed less than impressed. “Do you have anything to offer His Eminence?”
“Yes, I have a soul he might find intriguing,” he said. At that, John began to go ballistic again, but Sam pushed the rat back down into his pocket. If the woman noticed or cared about the rodent in his coat, she gave no sign.
“Walk to the right, then turn left at the second bell tree,” she said, face expressionless. “Then you will be taken to his private audience chamber.”
“Thank you,” said Sam. He didn’t think the woman was capable of appreciating his politeness (or even feeling much at all), but he could try.
As he walked further, passing trees full of not only fruits of all colors, but tinkling musical instruments as well, he whispered assurances at John. “I promise you, it’s not as bad as it sounds. You’ll see.”
He knew better than to say “Trust me.”
After making a left at the second bell tree, he was on a short path leading to a stately looking set of French doors. There was no light along the path, but the way was lit by a profusion of fireflies. In the strange red lighting, they took on a pink glow.
When he pushed through the French doors, he was in what looked like a study. The walls were lined with shelves, only there
were no books; only gruesome trophies, like skulls and the remains of ancient weapons. A stately fireplace roared with a voracious blue fire, making lights of different colors dance on all the strange objects in the room. There were no couches, only giant velvet, overstuffed chairs. A massive wooden desk, complete with an inkwell with some rare bird’s feather sticking out of it, completed the effect.
Sam lowered his head and whispered to John. “There should be books on these shelves. It’s a crime against heaven and earth for a room like this to have no books in it.”
John squeaked, and Sam was pretty sure they finally agreed on something.
Sam took a seat in one of the chairs, feeling small; the chair was big enough for two or three people. With nothing to do but wait, he combed through his other pockets; he had collected way too many fast food receipts recently. He kept meaning to pack a bagged lunch to take to work, but never seemed to get around to it. For one brief moment, he considered getting rid of the little slips of paper by throwing them into the fireplace, but thought better at it; who knew what effect material from the real world would have on that arcane blue fire?
He didn’t know how long he waited, and tried not to think about it. Time was weird here, and what felt like five minutes could really be five days. He knew how to make it so that he would reappear in the real world only a minute or two after he left, so as far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter how much time he spent here.
Well, I guess it does matter a little. I don’t want John to starve to death.
He didn’t hear a door open or close, but he heard the sound of expensive leather shoes moving on hard wood and knew his host had arrived.
“Son of Sammael, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, walking over to where Sam sat. Sam hopped out of the ridiculous chair and shook the other demon’s hand. Asmodeus’ appearance was a careful study in ordinariness; he had thinning brown hair, a slight frame, and skin that was beginning to sag around his neck. Sam knew that the demon could have looked like a Greek god if he wanted to, so the mild-mannered appearance had to be designed to put people off-guard. The only thing that marked him as different were his unnerving yellow eyes, similar to a cat’s, but they weren’t glowing at the moment.
“Are you certain? I know you and my father aren’t the best of friends,” Sam said with a half-smile. He had a gut feeling that being relatively honest with Asmodeus would get him farther than piling on the courtesies.
The demon smiled at that and gave a small shrug. “Perhaps, but as it says in a certain book, I do not hold the son accountable for the sins of the father. And as it happens, you yourself have done me something of a favor.”
That was a surprise; he had best tread very carefully here. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“Quentin,” said Asmodeus, putting his hands in his pockets and turning around. “He was the most obnoxious offspring I’ve ever produced. Frankly, I should have killed him myself and put an end to the embarrassment, but I did have fondness for his mother once,” he said. “It was just as well that you rid the world of his ineptitude.”
Sam pursed his lips. There was no way that Asmodeus was truly pleased that Sam had killed one of his sons (although technically Sam hadn’t delivered the killing blow, but that was another story.) He was saving face, making it seem like Quentin’s death hadn’t been any sort of blow to him. He was happy to go along with the ruse, but angry at himself for not anticipating this; frankly, he’d forgotten that Asmodeus was Quentin’s father, if he’d ever known. Sloppy mistakes like that could easily get him killed.
“Well it wasn’t a pleasant task, but I did what I had to do,” he said quietly.
Asmodeus sat down behind his large desk and motioned for Sam to take his seat again. “Can I get you anything to drink? Tea, coffee?”
Sam was pretty sure Asmodeus wouldn’t do anything as gauche as try to poison him, but he didn’t accept food or drink here on general principal. “No thank you. Listen, I don’t mean to take up much of your time,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m here because I heard a rumor that my friend, Dr. Serenus Zeitbloom, is here.”
“You heard correctly,” said the demon. “What of it?”
“I’m interested in bargaining for his freedom.”
Asmodeus leaned back in his chair, and put his feet up on his desk. It was a surprisingly casual gesture. “You can’t. He’s here of his own free will.”
That was news to Sam. “How so?”
“It’s part of a long-standing agreement,” said Asmodeus, studying his immaculately-trimmed nails. “In return for something I did for him decades ago, I own him two weeks out of every year. In years past we’ve arranged his visits over the summer, so as not to disrupt his academic schedule, but this year I called him in a little early.”
Sam tried to imagine what possible reason Serenus could have had for ever making such a deal, but he shut down that line of thought; he could puzzle it out later. He hadn’t really expected Asmodeus to agree to let Serenus go, so everything was still going according to plan…more or less. “In that case, may I see him? It needn’t be for long, but I would like to ask him a few questions.”
Asmodeus smiled. “You expect me to let you see him out of the goodness of my heart?”
“You said I had done you a favor,” Sam pointed out.
The smile faltered. “Something of a favor. Don’t push your luck.”
Maybe Asmodeus just wasn’t that committed to his ‘I’m glad you killed my son’ ruse. “In any case, I’m prepared to offer you payment.” He took John out of his coat pocket. The little rat must have been exhausted, but started struggling anew when Sam touched him.
Asmodeus leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “An impressive curse. I can sense the pride in this one, even in that shape.” He licked his lips, and Sam suppressed a shudder.
“I will give you a claim to him if you let me see Serenus for an hour,” Sam said. “You can have him for one day out of every year.”
Asmodeus cocked his head. “One day out of every year is barely enough to get started.”
“Three days.”
“You have to give me more.”
“Five days out of every year, and that’s my final offer. I’m only asking for a short visit with a prisoner.”
“He’s not a prisoner,” Asmodeus snapped, but then seemed to consider Sam’s offer. “That’s fair. I admit, I’m intrigued by your offer, and I’ve no reason to begrudge you seeing your friend.”
Actually, you do. Because the whole reason you called him in early this year was probably because you didn’t want him available to advise me before my hearing, but as I thought, you’re so hungry for a foothold on a good soul that you’re careless.
“Excellent,” said Sam, standing up. “Just show me where Serenus is and I’ll be on my way.”
Asmodeus frowned, not rising from his own chair. “You’re not trying to sell me part of a soul that you don’t truly own, rendering our agreement void, are you? Because let me warn you, I have no patience for that.”
Sam allowed himself a grin. “No. You forget, that as I am not a full-blood, I’m not bound by all of your laws. I don’t need a verbal contract to take a soul; I cursed him, so he’s mine now. Isn’t that right?”
All the fight seemed to go out of John; Sam couldn’t really blame him. It was amazing the rat had struggled for as long as he had.
“That would seem to be the way of things,” said Asmodeus, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “You’ll forgive my skepticism, but I’m concerned that you may be utilizing some other loophole regarding your status to weasel out on your end of the deal. I would have this agreement stated in full, with full names.”
“I, Samuel Christian Andrews, the Son of Sammael, do swear to give a portion of the soul of John Benjamin Golding to Asmodeus, High Lord of the Realm. I agree to give him the soul for the allotted time—”
“Five days every year,” Asmodeus interrupted.
“I agre
e to give him the soul for five days every year, and during said time, I renounce all claim to him.”
Asmodeus nodded. “Fair enough; it is done.” He gestured with his hand. “You’ll find Dr. Zeitbloom through that door.”
Sam looked to his left; next to the fireplace, a door had appeared where none had been before. “Well then,” he said, putting John back in his pocket, and turned to go.
Asmodeus smiled thinly. “You’re not going to leave your little rat with me?”
This is the dangerous part. Don’t screw this up.
“I still own him 360 days out of the year,” Sam said. “Why? Do you want to claim your five days starting now?”
There was a pause, and for a moment Sam doubted his plan. I said he wouldn’t come to any harm. I hope I didn’t lie to Dwight and Khalil.
“No,” said Asmodeus. “I have more souls than I can give my full attention at the moment; I’ll make time for him later in the year, when my schedule is lighter. Just out of curiosity,” he asked, standing up. “What did this man ever do to you?”
Sam smiled. “He was my familiar’s English teacher. I did not appreciate him calling her in for extra help.”
That is so close to being true it may not even count as a lie.
Asmodeus chuckled. “Is that so? I don’t sense much lust from him myself,” he said, considering John’s small form one more time, “But we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”
And with that, he was gone; the blue fire crackled and whooshed to announce his exit, and the dim electric light in the room briefly flickered.
Showy, that one, he thought as he went to go find Serenus.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It had been so long since Serenus had seen another person, then when he first saw Sam enter his cell, he thought it was an illusion.
“You can’t trick me, Azzie,” Serenus drawled, only half-conscious. “I know he would never come to see me.”
The illusion walked towards him slowly. “Come on, Ser. If he wanted to taunt you with a fake, why would he use me instead of Helen?”