by Mark Eller
A middle-aged, grossly overweight woman laboriously pushed through the small crowd and stomped up the stage’s three steps. “Get off,” she ordered imperiously. “I’m god commanded to sing on this stage.”
“I was here first,” Maggie snapped, but she backed away, and this surprised her because there had been a time when she would have refused most orders. Maybe more than her voice had not fully recovered when she regained her youth.
“Take my advice and earn your living on your back.” The woman’s voice dripped vitriol. “You have almost no voice, and you move like a man. Leave.” After glaring at Maggie, she shoved Jolson so hard he stepped back and fell off the stage. He landed on his feet only because the remnants of Maggie’s feminine grace had been added to his own. Glaring, he stepped forward, but Maggie leaped down to restrain him. She wanted attention, but only of the right kind.
The woman laughed before she sang for the next two hours, sang until the falling sun became soft orange in the distant western sky. Pale stars appeared to the east and above shone the faint nimbus of one full and one half moon. During the entire performance the woman sang with perfect breath control, perfect pitch, and more than perfect timing. She sang, and while she sang, Maggie’s heart turned black with envy.
“Glorious,” Jolson whispered when the woman finished. “I have never heard anything so beautiful.”
Perhaps music brings him more into himself, Maggie reflected. Was this a tool she could use?
When the woman stopped, people surged forward, shoving Maggie roughly to the side. Once near the stage, they threw money into the tin until it overflowed. Smiling contemptuously, the woman kicked the tin over.
“Who is she?” Maggie demanded from a poorly dressed man. “What is she doing singing on the street? She’s good enough to perform before kings.”
“That’s Marietta,” the man answered, “and she’s better than good. She’s sung for archbishops and kings. The story is she once sang for Trelsar, the white god. Athos’s spirit was there, too, and he wanted to take her down to Hell just like he has a few others, only Trelsar put Marietta under his protection because he’s Patron of the Arts. As payment for his protection Trelsar ordered her to perform here at least once each month.”
“It isn’t good,” someone in the crowd said. “Athos and Trelsar are preparing for war. The priests say they’ve always hated one another.”
“They have,” Jolson agreed, “but Trelsar hates Zorce more because he helped feed the Fall.”
Marietta frowned at a comment somebody made and looked down at Maggie. “You can have the stage now. I am finished with it.” The toe of her right foot stirred among the spilled coins. “You can have this trash too.”
“No, thank you,” Maggie replied. Her present voice was a mockery when compared to Marietta’s. She refused to embarrass herself by appearing to compete.
“I thought not,” the woman said in a snide tone. Stepping off the stage, she offered her hand to a well-dressed man who looked more than two decades her junior. “Gorges, darling, why don’t you take me to dinner? I am absolutely famished, and I do need to be in shape to sing for His Reverence Lord Calto tomorrow.”
“Delighted,” the man answered, not looking the least embarrassed to be seen with a woman twice his age and three times his weight. Crooking his elbow, he waited patiently for her to take his arm. The reverent crowd parted to offer them a clear path.
“I am so tired of these forced performances,” Marietta said exactly loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. “I have far too many guttersnipe admirers. Gorges, would you think up a way for me to lose most of them while we dine? These people are so filthy, I’m sure their diseases will damage my voice.”
Envy ate Maggie’s heart while she watched them leave.
“Find out where she lives,” she ordered Jolson, but he didn’t obey. Instead, his steady eyes carefully watched a blue skinned succubus approach them. The woman stared back with a gaze that pulled at Maggie‘s soul. Her lips were a predatory smile set upon perfect features. Near her side walked a monster of a man with a scarred and battered face. The eyes he rested on the succubus wore the hopeful, eager expression of a puppy anxious to please. He was, Maggie knew, enthralled.
“Thingy,” the woman said to Jolson when she arrived. “How delightful. I heard you managed to make it up here, but I never thought Athos would allow you to stay.”
“Belthethsia,” Jolson said.
New intelligence suffused his face. His eyes showed wary fearlessness. However, Maggie noticed he shifted so the hook was hidden behind her body.
“He’s mine,” Maggie said, and her small defiance surprised her because the succubus exuded fear and allure. Although the woman’s perfect body had been designed to destroy men, Maggie still felt the power of its draw. Deep in her core she knew she could not defy the succubus again, and this knowledge worried her. She had once owned the strength of will to face down the demon Krastos in Athos’s Hall.
“Yours. For now,” the succubus agreed. She eyed Jolson critically. “I’m not sure I approve of what you’ve done to him. He hardly cringes at all. I’ll have to work on his defect when I tire of Heriod.”
“You will never have me,” Jolson said dispiritedly.
“Maybe not,” Belthethsia replied. “I’ve become so bored with the mortal realm I’ll probably return home as soon as I find a suitable present for Athos. Until then— who knows? We had such fun together, you and I. Maybe we will again.” She studied him critically. “You always wore my scars well.” Gesturing to Heriod, she chucked a finger beneath Jolson’s chin and glided away.
Maggie grabbed Jolson by his wrist. “The singer! That Marietta. We have to find her.”
“Why?” Jolson asked, his attention still focused on the succubus.
“Because I want her voice,” Maggie hissed. Tightening her grip, she raised his arm until the jade hook rested before his knowing eyes. “I want her voice, and you’re going to give it to me. All we have to do is find out where she likes to eat.”
* * * *
Around them, crickets chirped their nighttime song. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the long lane leading to the restaurant’s door. Mathew’s, an exclusive restaurant which catered only to the rich, was surrounded by acres of trimmed grass and shaped shrubs. To Maggie, it seemed an isolated oasis trapped within Yylse’s filth and corruption, a golden spot of peace created by one of Yylse’ greatest crime lords. Even at her highest, Maggie could never have afforded to dine in its rarified air.
Halfway down the lane Maggie leaned deeper into Jolson’s arms and moved her lips close to his ear. His lean body felt hard against her softer flesh, but the raised scars pressing through his clothing were harder. She ran her right hand over his side, traced out the whorls of one interesting scar, and wondered if Belthethsia had given it to him. The thought sent a warm surge through her, making her want to press into him harder. Instead, she tightened her grip on the broken tree limb she held behind Jolson’s back and whispered in his ear.
“Where are they?”
“They have just now left,” Jolson said, not bothering to lower his voice.
“Took them long enough. We’ve been waiting here for two hours. How much food can one woman eat? What are they doing?” A faint thrill of anticipatory fear ran through her.
“She is speaking disrespectfully about a past admirer named Ludwig.” Jolson replied. “His left arm is wrapped around her waist. They are walking in our direction. The restaurant’s lanterns are being extinguished. They are almost here.”
“Whisper,” Maggie ordered, wishing Jolson were not slipping back into his dull stage. “Don’t let them hear you.”
The order came too late.
“What have we here?” Gorges demanded from only feet away. His voice sounded wary. “Waiting for us, are you?”
Maggie’s mouth went dry when a blade rasped free from its sheath and Gorges took a practiced knife fighter’s stance. Marietta sto
od only a pace away. Further back, two other figures stepped through the restaurant's doorway.
“Belthethsia and Heriod are approaching,” Jolson said needlessly.
“Why, it’s the young snit who tried to sing on my stage,” Marietta said. “Hello, snit. What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Maggie demanded, running one hand along the broken curve of Jolson’s cheek. “I’m romancing my beau.” Gripping the hidden branch tighter with her other hand, she wished Jolson’s scarred face was not so slack it made her lies of passion patently false. “So what’s your problem? Are you claiming all of Yylse as yours, or is there some small part of the city where you’ll allow me to stand?”
She wanted to curse. Belthethsia and Heriod were almost upon them. The time to act was well past, and she doubted another opportunity would be easy to find. After this late night meeting, Marietta would keep a wary eye out for her.
Gorges’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me why you’re here?” he demanded of Jolson.
Jolson shrugged. “Maggie wants to hit you with the tree limb she’s holding behind my back.”
Maggie did curse. Shoving Jolson away, she twisted in a sudden jerk, the tree limb clenched tightly in her hands. She started her swing toward Marietta but changed her angle when Gorges glided in with a six-inch knife held firmly in his right hand. To her surprise, the limb connected with his forearm. The knife fell, and she screamed victory.
But Gorges had not fallen. He was quickly on her, a man, tall and strong. She remained a small woman who had not had much time to build up new strength. He easily ripped the limb from her hands, threw it to the side, and grasped her in the circle of his arms. She struggled and kicked and screamed until Marietta waddled forward and punched her in the nose. Amazed by the blow’s force, Maggie’s eyes instantly blurred with tears. She stilled, breathing hard, swearing under her breath, and glared at Jolson’s unrepentant visage.
“How delightful,” Belthethsia cooed. “Thingy, did you arrange this entertainment for me?”
Holding up his hook for the succubus to see, Jolson gestured toward Marietta. “Maggie wants this woman’s voice.”
Belthethsia looked at Maggie and back to Jolson’s hook. “Is that why you aren’t afraid of— why, yes it is. Thingy, you have been a naughty boy by not being afraid of me, but you were very clever to bring me Athos’s Hook. I think you deserve a reward.” She pointed at Marietta. “Heriod, capture her and kill the man. He’s far too familiar with a knife for my comfort.”
Heriod had Marietta by the hair before Maggie could draw another breath. Gorges let out a gasp, released Maggie, and took off at a run.
“Help!” he called. “Murder! Help!”
“How disappointing,” Belthethsia sighed. “The man has no balls.” She made a brief gesture in the air. In response, the air swirled, solidified, and a lesser imp shot arrow fast after the running man. Gorges managed only a few more steps before the imp surrounded his head and slithered though his open mouth. Gorges’s body leaped, surged briefly through the air, and then fell to the walkway like a broken marionette. A moment passed, and then the imp rose out of George’s mouth, pulling the wisp of his soul behind it. It towed the soul to Belthethsia and cuddled into her. After cradling the soul’s wisp in her hands for a few moments, she smiled gently, swallowed it, and burped.
Belthethsia looked impatiently at Jolson. “Well?”
Walking up to Marietta, Jolson calmly shoved the hook’s glowing point into her throat. She stiffened, tried to gasp, but no sound came from her. Maggie saw no blood, no wound, but she hadn’t expected to see any. There had been no visible wound on Viln when Jolson finished with him, nor on her. Athos’s Hook had not been designed to sever mortal flesh.
Finished with Marietta, Jolson shuffled over to her and peered into her eyes. His own eyes were dim, showing barely enough intelligence to get this job done.
“Her voice,” Maggie begged, unable to take her hungry eyes off the hook’s glowing point. Her future adulation was there. With what the hook held, she would have riches, comfort, and the company of kings, and that was only the beginning. Before she finished using him, Jolson would make her a woman beyond compare. King Vere himself would grovel at her feet. Hell, given time she might even have Emperor Dade eating out of her hand. “Give me Marietta’s voice.”
“Her voice,” Jolson agreed, and then he buried the glowing hook’s evil point deep into her throat. It pulsed in her, surged. Heat filled her neck until she thought her flesh might burst into flames. Tilting her head back, Maggie wanted to fall to her knees and scream. She had to scream— had to— and then she did scream. The scream erupted as a pure soprano that was her and Marietta and more than either of them had ever been. It was a far grander and purer scream than had ever before been heard up upon the world. Her scream turned into song, and the song’s pitch soared into a terrified screech when Jolson’s hook moved from her throat, past her chin, and deep, deep into her brain. Pain and light flashed through her when the hook burned along pathways created when she stole Viln’s youth and grace, giving her original grace to Jolson in return.
Finished, face expressionless, Jolson stepped back. When the hook withdrew Maggie’s knees sagged, and her senses reeled, but she gathered herself together, straightened, and wondered what she should do. Reaching no decision, she waited quietly for somebody to give her directions.
Heriod released his hold on Marietta. Tears streamed down the imperious woman’s cheeks and dripped off her chin. Belthethsia went to her and gently grasped the woman’s face between cupped palms. Leaning forward, she parted her blood red lips and licked Marietta beneath her left eye. “I love the taste of tears.”
“What have you done to me?” Marietta whispered, her voice a tortured croak.
“He has given you what you always wanted,” Belthethsia gently explained. “You are free from your admirers.” Stepping a pace back, she abruptly slapped the woman’s face. The blow looked almost gentle, but the force rocked Marietta's head to the side and split open her cheek. “Run along before I decide to play with you some more. Heriod, grab Thingy for me.”
Marietta took off at a run. Unlike Gorges, she did not cry for help.
Swiftly moving in, Heriod grabbed at Jolson, abruptly stopping when Jolson raised his still glowing hook. The monster gasped, stiffened, and slowly backed away from the threat while shaking his head.
“I will destroy what’s left of you,” Jolson warned.
Belthethsia looked to Heriod, at Maggie, and turned her gaze back to Jolson. “You two are quite a prize. Heriod, bring the woman along. Thingy. Follow.”
“I won’t go back,” Jolson said stubbornly.
His face appeared more animated than Maggie had ever seen it before. The forceful presence blazing from his eyes overwhelmed her. She felt Belthethsia focus her will on him. The focusing seemed almost tangible. Irresistible.
It affected Jolson not at all. Belthethsia’s will split before him, washing to each side as if he were an immovable boulder in the center of a stream. In response, the hook’s glow became brighter.
“I have a weapon,” Jolson said.
Momentarily, Belthethsia appeared stunned, and then a small, amused smile quirked at the corners of her perfect lips. “So you do, and I see you used this woman instead of letting her use you. Very commendable, Thingy, but for your sake I hope you left her enough will to work with. I need to take Athos a special present if I’m to convince him to allow me back into Hell. I’m afraid a damaged Heriod just isn’t enough to impress the dear fellow. I need our Maggie and her dual voice.”
Sighing, she ran a pale blue hand through her light green hair. “I wonder, Thingy, what I should do with you, I can strip your soul with one of my pets, but it seems I can no longer order you to my bidding. Are you sure you don’t want to return with me?”
Jolson’s face was set, stern, unyielding. It was a strong face. Maggie wished she had seen his strength before. “I won’t go back.”
>
“You will after you die,” Belthethsia said, “if not before, and Thingy, you’ll probably die soon. Athos will send his hounds after you when I tell him you stole his hook. They’ll gut you and laugh while they’re doing it.” She waved a negligent hand. “For the sake of sport, I suppose I’ll let you run. Watching the chase will be most amusing, and I have always enjoyed seeing you bleed.”
She gestured toward Maggie. “You will come with me.”
“I don’t want to,” Maggie whispered. Images of Athos’s Court tumbled through her. Memories of the ravishes inflicted upon her mind and body while in Hell made her shudder.
“Jolson now owns your will,” Belthethsia said. “You cannot deny me.”
Closing her eyes, Maggie cast a simple prayer to the Seven virtuous gods. Empty silence answered her, and she despaired. Reopening her eyes, she saw Jolson’s shadowy moonlit form more than fifteen feet away. He stood tall and limber, and he walked away from her with firm purpose in his stride.
She reached out, beseeching, begging. “Jolson— please— I protected you. I helped you. Don’t leave me. Please!”
Jolson paused. When he half-turned to look at her over his shoulder, Maggie’s heart leaped with hope, and then her hope died when she saw his set expression.
“Go to Hell,” Jolson said. Turning back to the path, he walked away.
Chapter 13—The Road from Hell
Phrandex stood in the doorway to the nursery, sulking in the gloom of Hell. His mother’s admonishments rang fresh and clear inside his head, a constant reminder he would never live up to her expectations.