by Debra Dunbar
She rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah. If you’re such a badass, then why am I sneaking you in disguised as a Low?”
Good point. “It told you: I’m a sneaky kind of badass. Now let’s get on with this. I don’t have all day here. I’m a powerful demon. I’ve got shit to do.”
“Fine. You ready?” Cheros grabbed the back of my shirt before I even had time to reply, hoisting me slightly off my feet. Damn, the girl was strong.
“Let’s get this over with,” I told her.
The demon hauled me down the street while I did my best to squeal and fight, keeping my energy signature so tightly contained that I nearly appeared human in my T-shirt and jeans. Well, I would have appeared human aside from the blue fur and little nubby horns I’d assumed when entering Hel. Few turned to look. Lows were plentiful and unimportant in Hel. No one gave a shit about one being hauled away to her death down the middle of the street.
At the edge of town was a narrow stone building, the tower listing an alarming five or so degrees to the left. There was no physical fence or barrier barring entry to the front door, but from the way the air sizzled and popped ten feet from the steps, I could tell the residence didn’t need a physical fence.
Cheros pulled an amulet from a weird pocket in her scaled thigh and dangled it in front of the magical barrier. With a word, she swung the amulet forward. The blue stone turned red and the barrier appeared, a wavy orange semi-translucent substance that looked like see-through lava.
She pocketed the amulet while I eyed the barrier, waiting for somebody to come out and answer her summons. With a shoulder roll, she shifted my weight in her hand, then shoved my head into the magical lava.
I screamed, more in surprise than anything else, and called for my sword. The bitch had set me up, betrayed me. And now I was going to be dead for my stupidity in trusting a demon.
The sword didn’t come. The barrier didn’t melt my head. I froze as I felt the magic lick through me, searching for something. And suddenly realizing what it was searching for, I held my energy tight, trying my damndest to appear to be the Low I was impersonating. I had no idea what this magical lava thing would do to me if it thought I was an imp—or the Iblis. I was assuming Cheros needed to use the Lows she brought as a kind of key to open the door, so to speak. Would have been nice of her to tell me that before shoving my head into magical lava.
Something seared my fur, then the barrier vanished. I inhaled, happy for Cheros’s support as she dragged me across the ground, up the stairs and through a thick doorway.
“Bitch,” I muttered under my breath.
She chuckled. “Oh, come on. You’re an imp. That was some funny stuff right there. Would have been even funnier if your head had melted off your neck.”
No, it wouldn’t have.
“And if you would have died…” I felt her shrug. “Kinda woulda sucked for my plans the other side of the gates, but no biggie. I’d rather the barrier nail you then have Tasma kick my ass.”
I wouldn’t have died. All the times I’d been killed, I’d managed to survive. I was getting pretty good at existing inside a corpse, biding my time until I could recreate my form into something more useful. But beyond that, she was right. If I couldn’t pass through a magical barrier, Tasma would have taken one look at me and killed us both. And that time I probably would have died, as in dead-dead.
A pair of webbed feet with long yellow spiraled toenails appeared in front of me. I looked up as far as I could and saw a twig-shaped torso with splintery spikes jutting from the bark-like skin.
“You’re early, Cheros,” Twig-guy said. “What cha’ got this time? Is it one on the list?”
“Nah. Just some piece of shit I found digging in an alley. Couldn’t resist, you know?”
He laughed. “Yeah. That’s why you’re the go-to demon for Lows. Let’s see her before I bother the big guy.”
She heaved me forward. My chin cracked on the hard floor, and my teeth snapped together biting into my tongue. I let the blood dribble out of my mouth, just for added effect.
The webbed foot with nasty toenails sunk into my side and rolled me over. I stared up into a face that looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon had received some backroom plastic surgery. The long narrow nose twitched, nostrils flaring.
“Oh, the stench. And those adorable little ineffective horns.” He clasped his finlike hands together. “Tasma will love her. I can barely feel her energy signature, she’s so puny. It’s a wonder she survived to adulthood.”
I glared at him, then spit some blood and saliva onto his foot.
He laughed, the sound wet and reedy. “Adorable and spunky. Does she taste good?”
“I haven’t bitten her yet. You know what happened last time. Tasma doesn’t like me to sample his purchases.”
“Well, she looks in pretty good shape for a Low. He’ll be pleased.” Twig-guy nudged me again with his nasty toes.
“Then hurry up and call him so I can get paid and get out of there,” Cheros complained. “I don’t have all day to hang around this dump, and she’s pretty tempting. If he doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to take her home and keep her for my own.”
That got Twig-guy moving. He sped from the room. I bled on the floor. Cheros shifted from foot to foot, her arms folded across her chest as she looked at the furnishings with bored eyes.
This Tasma dude took forever. I took a short nap on the floor in the time it took him to stroll into the room.
“Oh! How lovely. You’ve outdone yourself this time, Cheros.”
I blinked my eyes open to stare at a pair of loafer-clad feet. Above them were legs clad in what seemed to be argyle socks and knife-pleated tan pants. My eyes traveled upward to see a demon in human form wearing a red sweater cardigan. He looked just like Mr. Rogers aside from the glowing eyes that matched the color of his sweater and the energy that rolled off him like a tumbleweed of sharp knives.
“Isn’t she sweet? Sassy as fuck, with barely enough energy to hold her form together. You could do all sorts of things to her and not worry about getting so much as a hangnail. Only drawback is you’d need to be kind of gentle. I’ve got no idea how she’s survived this long. I mean, if she so much as stubbed her toe, she’d probably bleed to death.”
I looked up at the glowing-eyed Mr. Rogers and tried my best to look both sassy and helpless. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side as he regarded me for a moment. Then he took a small bag that jingled with the sound of metal from his pocket and handed it to Cheros.
She peeked inside and counted under her breath, because even high-level demons cheat and steal. Then with a grin and a swift kick to my foot she turned to leave. “Have fun, you two.”
Fun. Yeah, right. I just hoped this guy didn’t want to do anything particularly horrible to me before I had a chance to find and release the other Lows. It would be especially hard to keep up my act as a Low while the dude was torturing me, but if I revealed who I was, I’d never find out where the others were being held, if they were even still alive. If my cover was blown, the only chance I’d have would be to kill this guy and hope his household knew where the others were being kept—and would be willing to give them up.
I doubted they would care enough to cooperate, even with the head of their household dead. Which would leave me to take this building apart one stone at a time, perhaps paying Kirby or Gareth to do a find spell, or maybe bringing Boomer over to try to track the Lows by scent. I’d have to do something. I couldn’t abandon them. Not now. They were mine. Mine.
Tasma crouched down, the loafers making a squeak sound as he shifted his weight onto his toes. His face came close to mine and I stiffened, eyeing him warily. Was he going to kiss me? Bite me? Spit in my face?”
The demon smiled, revealing blocky human teeth that did nothing to reassure me. Then he reached out a hand and gently smoothed the fur on the top of my head, clucking as he touched the damaged horn.
“Ah, you poor little thing. You’ve had a diffic
ult life, haven’t you? Hiding. No doubt you’ve been snatched off the street and beaten, your bones broken and your body violated. You recover slowly from injuries you’re too weak to instantly repair, feeling every burn and cut for days or even weeks. You never had a chance. You were born to suffer and die.”
Wow, way to rub a Low’s nose in it. Even as an imp, I’d suffered much of what he’d said. Yes, I could repair injuries instantly, but imps were not high on the demon hierarchy totem pole. I’d spent my nearly thousand years being bullied, tormented, trying to fight off attackers or, better yet, run away and hide from them. I wasn’t as helpless as a Low, yet his words still struck home.
His hand paused on my forehead and I felt the touch of his spirit-self. Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh buddy? It was one thing to let him beat the crap out of me or take physical liberties with my form, but this wasn’t going to happen. I gritted my teeth and pushed his spirit-self away, struggling to restrain the urge to devour.
His eyebrows went up. “Feisty indeed. The will is strong, but the flesh and power are weak. Yes, you might just end up being my favorite.” His hand closed around my undamaged horn and he hoisted me upward. I felt something cold, and slippery pour through me, cutting off access to my stored energy, and siphoning away the small amount I’d held at hand, ready to defend myself if needed. My legs shook, barely able to support my weight. Damn this brought back memories. No one had done this since when I’d first met Gregory. I hadn’t even realized the Ancients still retained this skill.
“Just in case.” He smiled again, the grin downright creepy with his glowing eyes and that disturbing so-very-human form. “Come. You want to meet your new friends, don’t you? No fighting, though. All of you must be kind and supportive of each other. Use your words to solve disagreements, not your claws.”
I staggered down the hall beside him, the hand on my horn more steadying than restraining. Light flashed as we passed through a series of doorways, making me realize that there was far more to this house than just its physical structure. There was no way to leave figurative breadcrumbs, or memorize our path. If I found the Lows and freed them, I’d have a struggle trying to get them out of this building and back into the streets of Dis.
We stopped in front of a smudged, dirty sand-colored wall. With a shimmer, an opening appeared and I saw half a dozen demons inside a room, every last one of them staring at us with wide, confused eyes as they sat on the floor surrounded by human-style children’s toys.
“Oh, Puck. Have you broken Mr. Choo-choo again?” Tasma scolded gently, but the demon holding a gnawed wooden toy shivered.
“Wasn’t I supposed to chew it? I thought…I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the Low squealed, trying to shove the toy out of sight behind his back.
Tasma pushed me forward into the room. I felt an icy chill as I crossed the threshold, but my strength and access to my energy returned once his hand was off my horn.
“You know what happens to Lows that don’t respect their toys,” Tasma warned. “I’ll send some bones down at dinner time. You can chew on those, but good Lows do not damage their toys. And you all are good Lows, are you not?”
There was a panicked chorus of affirmative responses, cries assuring the powerful demon that they were, in fact, good.
Good. Demons were not “good” even Lows. What was wrong with this Tasma guy? Was this some sort of horrible torture, that he was forcing these demons to act against their nature? And what was the punishment for misbehavior?
The wall sealed once more, Tasma vanishing on the other side and leaving me in a room full of nervous Lows and children’s toys.
“What does he do if you rip the limbs off a Barbie?” I asked. “A time-out? No cake after dinner?”
“We don’t know,” Puck whispered with a frightened glance at the wall behind me. “Those demons are taken away and we never see them again.”
“Even the good ones are taken away,” an eight-legged purple Low confided. “And we never see them again either. Best thing is to not be bad, but not be too good. And to hide behind the others and hope he doesn’t notice you.”
“How many has he taken away?” I looked around the room. Six—no eight—Lows were here, yet a dozen or two had been taken. I could hope all I wanted, but in my gut I knew that four to sixteen demons weren’t trying to not-break the toys in another room somewhere, or in a solitary time-out without their cookies.
“There were eleven bad ones,” the purple demon told me. “Six got into a big fight and four died before he intervened and took the other two away with the dead. One tried to climb up and escape out a window and fell to his death. Two others choked on some little, jagged plastic things and died. Five good ones got taken away. Or maybe it was eight? It’s kind of hard to keep track of everyone.”
I looked around at the walls of the windowless room.
“The window is gone,” she told me. “He removed it. And we don’t have the toys with the little plastic parts anymore either.”
This guy was so fucking weird. I’d been in the human world enough that I could see the eerie similarities between this setup and a daycare center run by a psychotic nutjob.
“He was very upset about the dead Lows,” a fat yellow blob of a Low told me. “Called them his poor lost ones. We all got punished when they died.”
Bastard. I envisioned him whipping the Lows, burning them as he blamed them for the loss of the others.
“It was horrible,” the purple one said with a shudder. “The lecture went on and on until I was ready to kill myself. Only I couldn’t kill myself because he’d taken away all the toys with the little parts.”
“Even bunny-boo doesn’t have eyes anymore,” a gray Low with huge pointed ears complained, holding up a tattered stuffed animal whose woolly fur had been licked off in patches. “He told me they were a choking hazard.”
Puck elbowed me and I leaned down. “We’re going crazy. Swivle won’t let go of that fake rabbit. Don’t try to take it away or he’ll cry and Mister Tasma will come. We’ll all have to sit for a weird story about how sharing is what good demons do, and threats about what might happen if we take things from each other. We’re supposed to say please and thank-you, and eat all of the vegetables at dinner. And no fighting. Fighting gets you taken away.”
I had to get them out of here. Those that weren’t killed were slowly going insane. Maybe fighting and being hauled away as “bad” would be a blessing, if they were all going to end up like Swivle, clutching the stuffed rabbit and obsessively licking the side of its face.
Were the others alive or dead? If I rescued these ones, would I be leaving behind nine to twelve demons to suffer? Because I wouldn’t get another chance at this. Could I live with myself if I only brought eight to safety and left the others behind? I’d claimed them. It would forever eat at me to think that I’d allowed another demon to take what was mine and destroy it.
Although those were the least of my worries. How the fuck was I going to get these Lows out of here? We were deep in the bowels of somewhere, several magical passageways from the physical part of Tasma’s home. Were these walls truly walls? Could I just blast my way through them, and how many other ones stood between us and the outside? I was surrounded by Lows. I couldn’t imagine that Tasma would have expended the cost and effort to put big-time security in place to hold a bunch of demons that simple bars and barriers would contain. I mean, these Lows were so puny that they choked to death on Legos and died falling from a window that couldn’t have been more than eight feet off the ground.
“Mistress?” A voice I recognized parted the crowd of Lows and I saw Booty with his slick oily fur and his beady little eyes. “Mistress! Oh, has he captured you as well? I would not wish this place on anyone, but I am still so glad to see you.”
The Low ran toward me, and I thought for a second he would rake his claws down my side, biting my arm in his usual affectionate greeting. Instead he halted, claws upraised. Then they retracted and he wrapped his greasy ar
ms around me, placing his bony head against my chest as he hugged me.
“Hug! Hug!” Swivle raced toward me, the stuffed rabbit dangling from one paw. He too wrapped his arms around me, setting off a chain reaction. My startled eyes met Puck’s as half a dozen Lows gave me a gentle group-hug, a few stroking my back or patting my shoulder with soft words of “there, there”.
“They’re going insane,” Puck told me. “We’re supposed to hug, and be gentle with our hands. And kissing needs to be kept to the cheek or forehead with no tongue. Otherwise, he’ll know we’ve been bad.”
But these Lows hugging me weren’t doing this out of a sense of self-preservation anymore. They weren’t acting. Booty had hesitated, but he was one step from this being his default greeting, from losing whatever was demon about him as these others had. How long had it taken Tasma to break them? How long had it taken for him to turn a group of demon Lows into a band of well-behaved, scared toddlers?
Chapter 17
Tasma brought dinner himself, then stood outside the doorway and smiled benevolently as we ate hot dogs that had been cut into tiny little pieces, tater tots, and a healthy serving of soft carrots and peas. We had milk to drink. The entire time, the demon encouraged us repeatedly to clean our plates, while instructing us on proper usage of the utensils as well as constant entreaties to wipe our hands and mouths on the supplied paper napkins and not our own arms, or legs, or the arms and legs of our neighbors.
That weirdo stood there the entire time with that creepy smile on his face, eyes glowing as he watched us. Then when all the plates and utensils were collected, he still stood there. The other Lows froze. I felt their unease and wonder what they expected to happen next. I doubted it was cake and ice cream from the fear I felt rolling off them.
“You.” Tasma pointed. “You with the stuffed rabbit. What is your name?”