Satan's Mirror

by Roxanne Smolen

  Snow spun toward Emily. She hunkered deep in her coat. Large flakes landed on her sleeves. They sizzled and dissolved into wisps of smoke. Acid ash. Chastity warned her of it. She said great clouds of ash rose from the lakes of fire to scour the land.

  Emily looked at the naked people. The demon and his two dogs sat together out of the way of their stomping and gyrations. He seemed content to wait out the flurry of ash.

  His passivity infuriated her. Had this creature seen her daughter? Had he touched her? Had he watched with his bland expression while her little girl was tortured? It didn’t matter whether he had or not—she held them all responsible. They were the scourge of the human race.

  She decided to kill him.

  Slowly, she took out an arrow. A voice in the back of her head raged. The demon appeared impervious to acid. Perhaps his skin was too thick for her arrow to pierce. In that case, she would beat him to death with his own pitchfork.

  On one knee, Emily took aim. The loosed arrow buried itself in the demon’s torso. He toppled backward. Whining, the hellhounds jumped up. One sniffed the wound as if concerned about its master.

  The other looked straight at Emily. It ran at her with such speed, her heart leapt.

  “Don’t panic,” she whispered, notching her arrow. “Plenty of time.”

  But then the second dog took off running, kicking up great swirls of fallen ash. Its tongue lolled from between its fangs as it strove to catch its mate.

  Emily targeted the nearer animal. The arrow struck its chest. The hound yelped, but it kept coming. She shot again, this time hitting its face. It fell, skidding over the ash-shrouded rock.

  Its mate leapt over it, bounding so high into the air, Emily thought it meant to fly to her. She put two arrows into its underside, and the beast fell dead, rolling end-over-end to within feet of her.

  Heart racing, Emily stared at the hound. Froth flecked its scaly face. Streaks of gray dust marked its pelt. Stepping forward, she yanked her arrows from its ribcage.

  “That was too close.”

  The caravan of people didn’t notice that their tormentors were gone. Some danced about as if on hot coals, trying to beat the powdery acid from their bodies. Others fell to the ground, succumbing to the stinging flakes. The storm increased, and the heavy fall of ash obscured them.

  Knife in hand, Emily knelt over the dead hellhound. She hesitated. She hadn’t skinned an animal since her teens when she spent summers on her grandfather’s farm—and never anything so large. Plunging her knife into the beast’s gut, she cut toward the neck. Ash hissed upon the dog’s moist flesh. She gasped in revulsion, rolling the fur as she worked, revealing thick cords of purple and black muscle. She was making a mess, but it was more important to be quick.

  She sheathed her knife with difficulty. The shooting glove had protected her right hand, but her left hand, exposed by the armguard, ran with open sores.

  Hampered by the weight, Emily lifted the skin. She heaved the hide to where the other dog lay. The animal’s snake-like tail coiled and slapped the ground. She sliced it off and tossed it aside. Black blood spurted.

  She jerked an arrow from its chest and pulled another from its head. By the time she finished skinning the beast, her burnt hand was numb. With hides over either arm, she staggered toward the caravan. The skins dragged behind, throwing her off-balance.

  “Here,” Emily called to the people. “Get under.”

  No response.

  She stumbled, and her hood shifted, exposing her face. Searing pain enveloped her cheeks. She went back for the dog’s severed tail, still twitching on the ground, and used it to tie her hood closed.

  Shouldering the skins, she shouted, “Help me with these!”

  Only one man rushed toward her. Emily handed him a skin. She draped the other over a group of people kneeling together. Scant shelter, but at least their heads were covered.

  A wild cry rose around her. Those without a hellhound hide fell upon the others. They clawed and kicked, grabbing the fur for themselves.

  “Wait! Stop that.”

  A hard shove nearly knocked her off her feet. People swarmed around her, their eyes frantic, mouths gaping. Hands snatched her arms, her neckline.

  They wanted her coat!

  Emily tried to run. Her hood ripped back, and her coat slid down one shoulder. Her bow fell away.

  Dear God, her bow!

  She elbowed a person and strong-armed another, but there were too many. She fell beneath them. Something sharp pierced her leg.

  The demon’s pitchfork.

  Emily grabbed it. She butt-ended one woman and struck another. The others ran off, the hellhound skin flapping above them.

  Emily picked up her bow. The sinew backing along its belly was scuffed, but intact. She shook it at the receding mob. “Is everyone here insane?”

  “I am not.”

  Emily spun toward the voice. It was the man with the first hide. He clutched it around him. His gray-coated face showed blisters and welts, but his eyes were not crazed. With her bow across her shoulders, Emily straightened her coat. She watched him, not certain what he would do. After a moment, she picked up the hound tail and tossed it to his feet. “That would make a good belt.”

  He nodded, tying it around his waist to hold the animal skin in place.

  Emily nursed a sore lip with her tongue. She brushed dust from her pant legs and found a puncture in the leather. The subsequent wound on her leg hurt, but there was no blood.

  The man watched in silence. It was then she noticed the snow had stopped.

  She walked toward the fallen demon and examined him from a distance. His eyes were open. They reminded her of cat eyes. His lipless mouth showed needle-sharp teeth. Two knobs protruded from his forehead like small horns, with a mark that looked like an hourglass between them.

  Was he dead or feigning? Reaching with the fork, she prodded him. The demon didn’t move. He was dead.

  She should have captured and interrogated him. He might have told her how to get to the castle. Then again, he might have lied.

  In any case, she was relieved that she could kill a demon as easily as a hellhound. But as she pulled the arrow from his body, she realized it was a lucky shot. The demon had an exoskeleton: two hard plates wrapped over his shoulders onto his chest, and another girded his mid-section. Somehow, her arrow slipped in between.

  The man stepped nearer.

  Emily faced him, holding the arrow like a dagger, ready to defend herself. He did not attack. He appeared to be in awe.

  “They can die,” she said, motioning at the demon. “You don’t have to suffer. You can make an ax or a club out of stone and fight back.”

  “I wish to follow you. I will do your bidding.”

  Emily stared. Follow her? She wasn’t a leader. She was in this as thick as he was. “All I want from you is directions. I have to get to the castle.”

  “The castle? By all that is holy. Are you daft?”

  His response reminded her so much of Chastity’s, her hackles rose. Chastity had been reluctant to help, too. Well, damn them both. She didn’t need their blessings. She tossed the pitchfork to him and turned to leave. “Fine. I’m going.”

  “Wait.” He hesitated, then hurried to her side. “See the redness there?”

  Emily looked where he pointed and saw a faint blush on the horizon.

  “A lake of fire,” he said, “stretching farther than the eye can perceive. You will see the castle from its banks.”

  She gasped. “Are you saying the castle is in the lake?”

  “Beyond. On the other side.”

  “Thank you,” she said, nodding. “In return, let me give you a last bit of information. You know the tunnels you see in the sky? They can take you home. Find a way to get inside.”

  “You can make me live again?”

  “Not me. You have to do that yourself.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Joey Mastrianni stubbed out his cigarette on the bedside nightstand
and flicked the butt onto the threadbare carpet. He rubbed his gritty neck. He was running out of time. If he didn’t find the bitch soon, they would come for him—and for all his posturing, he didn’t want to go back.

  Joey crossed the room and gazed outside. The nights were growing colder. He was glad he found the abandoned motel. It was fully furnished. Probably the owner had a heart attack when the main road took another route. The room he chose stank of mold and rat turds, but he didn’t care. He didn’t mind sharing his bed.

  The thought brought an image of Vanessa. What a hag she’d become. Still, he was almost sorry for what he did. He shook his head. She bought him a reprieve. That’s what mattered. He wouldn’t end his life with her. Not if he could locate Chastity Williams.

  The doorknob rattled. Joey turned toward it, breathing the word, “No.”

  On the wall, a glimmer became a vertical pool, a mirror shining in darkness. A smudge of red swirled inside.

  “No!”

  He backed away, stumbling over the nightstand. The lamp toppled and smashed. The metal door rattled so loudly, Joey thought it would burst open. He had a fleeting glimpse of himself rushing to freedom—but there was no freedom.

  A trace of brimstone circled the musty room as the devil’s face appeared. The big guy.

  Joey trembled. He fought to keep his voice steady. “You got to give me more time. I’m close. Real close.”

  The devil grinned, and Joey’s throat burned with rising vomit.

  “Come,” said the devil.

  “Wait!” Joey cried. “You’re making a mistake. I can find her.”

  Hands grabbed him from behind, and he fought them out of reflex. He caught a whiff of urine and realized he’d pissed himself. Damn, he thought, that’s going to burn.

  His feet left the floor. Joey closed his eyes and clamped his jaws against the screams battling inside him. He felt he was falling backward into a furnace. The piss boiled off his pants, scalding his groin—then his pants flamed and turned to ash. His newly re-grown hair singed and smoked, blistering his calloused skin. He arched his back, enveloped in pain as his balls crisped and his body cooked.

  A solid blow to his midsection dropped him to his knees. He was aware of torchlight, aware he’d survived yet another passage. Hands wrenched him upward, dragging him past blurred faces and muffled screams. He didn’t try to speak. He knew from experience he would puke if he opened his mouth. He also knew the pair of demons who carried him were mere minions—they didn’t wear a language synthesizer like the big guy Satan.

  They tossed him into the room Joey always thought of as the boss’ office. It had a desk filled with twinkling lights and a large, open window with a view of the lake of fire. Although it was daylight outside, shadow shrouded the room.

  Joey remained on hands and knees, coughing. He wiped spit from his mouth with the back of his hand then looked around. The minions were gone, and the room was silent.

  “I need a few more days,” he said. “A week tops.”

  “No more time,” a shadow replied. “We had a deal.”

  “We’ll make a new deal.” Joey stood, legs quaking.

  The shadow darted forward so quickly he would have missed it if he’d blinked. A clawed hand grasped his throat and slammed him against the wall, pinning him eight feet up.

  Wheezing, Joey clutched the hand that held him, trying to lessen the pressure.

  Satan leaned to within inches, his fetid breath hot in Joey’s face. He hissed and spat, but the words that reached Joey’s ears were recognizable. “I wish to show you something.” He pressed his finger against Joey’s forehead.

  Joey screamed. It was like an ice-cold dagger had penetrated his brain. Blinding light filled his vision. His eyes rolled back to escape it. Just when he thought he would pass out, a figure in a black leather coat appeared.

  The sight snapped him awake. His senses piqued, surpassing the pain, and he leaned forward as if to see better. It was a woman. He saw her from a height as if he glided overhead. She looked up at him. Then she pulled an arrow from behind her back and shot—

  The connection broke. Joey hit the floor with a gut-jarring thud. Turning his back, Satan strode to the window and gazed outside.

  Joey massaged his throat, still gasping. “What was that, some sort of surveillance recording?”

  “It was from a companion.”

  Joey mouthed the word, “Oh.” He’d heard of companions. While the majority of hellhounds were born in the wild, the elite were trained as protectors. They held a telepathic link to their masters.

  “I know her,” Joey said. “She’s that bitch doing a story about the Mirror. Last time I seen her was in the swamp.” He looked up, wincing with trepidation. “What’s she doing in the wastelands? How come she has a weapon?”

  “She seems well prepared.”

  Joey’s stomach dropped another notch. “You can’t think I had anything to do with it.”

  “No?”

  “Well, no. Of course not. I’m your man. You know that. You know everything.” He paused. “Are you saying you didn’t bring her?”

  “I glimpsed her in the conduit. It amused me at the time. No one has broken into my realm before. I actually looked forward to reuniting her with her daughter. The games we would play.”

  “You took her kid?”

  The devil growled.

  Joey gave an involuntary jerk. “Serves the bitch right.”

  “It has grown beyond games, beyond amusement. That she should do this now, spit in my eye when there are so many here to witness it. When there are so many awaiting the deity.”

  “Deity? You mean the dark angel?”

  “What?” Satan turned around, a shadow framed in light.

  “The dark angel,” Joey stammered. “A legend among your subjects. The embodiment of hope, if you believe in such a thing.”

  “This has little to do with deities or angels. There has been a fatality. Our first.”

  “I thought you guys were invincible.”

  “She killed a child. An important child. The chancellor expects my resignation.”

  “You mean quit?” Joey leapt up. “You can do that?”

  No response. Frowning, Joey thought of other names for the lord of the underworld—Hades, Lucifer, Diablo. He always believed they referred to the same entity. He wondered now if they were previous overseers.

  “What would happen then?” he asked.

  “A new purveyor would be assigned, perhaps one without my good humor. Or my penchant for deals.”

  Joey stammered. “Deals?”

  The yellow eyes glinted. “You spoke of making a new deal. I assume you again barter for your freedom.”

  “Yes.”

  The silhouette blurred, leaving the window and reappearing behind Joey. A sharp claw stabbed the back of his neck, but he didn’t flinch.

  “What do you want me to do?” Joey asked.

  “Find her,” Satan said. “Bring her to me.”

  “That’s quite a challenge.”

  “And if you fail—”

  “I know the consequences.”

  “You don’t. You really have no idea.”

  Joey stifled a shudder. “What if I refuse the assignment?”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” A pause. “I thought not. Two companions will accompany you.”

  A pair of hellhounds appeared. Joey leapt in surprise. The devil’s claw dug deeper, and he jumped again.

  Satan laughed. Stepping to the desk, he touched a series of twinkling lights and then inserted the pendant he wore. “I will place you where we found the newling.”

  A shimmering window opened in mid-air. It showed a vista of red stone. One dog stepped through and appeared on the other side. It seemed oddly diminished, as if viewed through the wrong end of a telescope.

  The other dog moved next to Joey.

  He looked at the devil. His gut told him to back out of the agreement. But this was the only deal on the table—find Goodman or
die.

  Without a word, he stepped through the portal. The second hellhound stayed on his heels. Hot, abrasive wind chafed his face. The window popped out of existence.

  Joey gazed over smoking plains, shoulders slumping. He ran a hand through his nonexistent hair. Looking up at the curdling sky, he yelled, “Where in hell am I supposed to look?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  As the ash storm moved on, the surrounding haze brightened. The blinding glare masked the red blush Emily sought. She plodded forward, trying not to think of what it would mean to her little girl if she veered off course, telling herself that if the lake of fire were as large as described, she would find it.

  In the back of her mind, however, she worried about how long it was taking to locate her daughter. What horrors did April face in the castle while she wandered the wasteland searching for her?

  Remnants of the storm turned the air caustic. Even shallow breaths set her throat ablaze. Her boots kicked up the leftover ash, tracing her path with a fine cloud.

  Emily passed a group of boulders, remembering to keep her distance so not to trigger a response. They were covered in bird droppings, but on a larger scale than she thought possible. She recalled the befouled statues near her home. The birds here must be gargantuan.

  A cold sensation crept over her at the thought. She tensed, searching the sky. Chastity spoke of harpies. She said they attacked the weak or those who traveled alone, sometimes carrying them off to their nests.

  Emily felt vulnerable and exposed. She took out an arrow and walked with her bow ready. What would happen, she wondered, after a harpy’s youngling stripped your bones of flesh? Would you still be alive, praying for a caretaker to turn your bones to salt?

  Shadow marred the distant haze. At first, she thought it was another group of boulders—but as she neared, she realized it was a copse of trees. Dark shapes fluttered among the limbs. Emily dropped to the ground, nose twitching against a rank odor.