The hound snorted, bringing him back to himself.
He had a mission and now the means to accomplish it. He would get ahead of Goodman. Cut her off.
Then they would see which one was Satan’s favorite.
FORTY
Emily and Brother struggled to the top of the last hill before the lake of fire. A stiff wind peppered them with cinders. Pings and loud popping sounds punctuated the inferno’s continuous roar, and boiling lava spat at the air as if in contempt.
Eyes smarting, Emily looked down on a red-lit plateau. Creatures paced the bank—the sentries Gun mentioned. They reminded her of centaurs—the body of a horse merged with the torso of a human. But while mythology held centaurs as beautiful beings, these were grotesque. Their faces appeared distorted by bulging jaws. They had wings similar to locust wings, which beat furiously, emitting a buzzing whine heard over the thunderous flames. Their hindquarters were segmented like scorpions, and thick tails curled over their backs like stingers.
Inside the fire pit, Emily counted three interior ledges. People crowded the roadways like ants, scurrying over one another, carrying rocks and boulders on their backs. Some of the boulders were so large the workers had to roll them. She glanced about for the demons that fostered the rock-moving charade, but heat shimmer made it difficult to pick them out.
Sparks and orange-tinted smoke rose from the pit. Through the glare, Emily saw the black, medieval-looking castle. It was as large as a city. Harpies circled the turrets.
Her daughter was somewhere inside.
At a faint whirring noise, Emily turned to see a caretaker crest the hill. She froze, hand on her knife, but the wraith took no notice of them. Its ethereal robes fluttered, and stones stirred beneath it as it glided away.
Eyes on the creature, she crept down the hillside. The wind dropped, and the temperature fell in the shelter of the valley. From behind a large rock halfway down the slope, Emily watched the caretaker.
Brother hunkered beside her. “Why do you study it so?”
Distracted, she whispered, “It’s riding something.”
He craned his neck, peering over the rock. “This is important to you?”
“Yes.” She could think of no other way across the lava.
“Then I shall retrieve it.” Hefting his pitchfork, Brother ran down the hill toward the caretaker.
Emily yelped. “Brother. Stop.”
The caretaker paused, turning toward her voice. She could not see its face, but its stance radiated surprise. It lifted an arm as if to bat Brother away.
But Brother had gathered momentum and could not be stopped. He ran straight into the creature, knocking them both to the ground. First to recover, he rose to his knees and plunged the pitchfork into its chest.
Emily stared. The motionless being lay like a pile of rags. Brother lurched to his feet, pulling out the fork.
To the side, a second caretaker glided around a stand of rocks.
“Look out,” she yelled.
She ran full-tilt down the hill. With one leg coiled beneath her and the other outstretched, Emily leapt at the caretaker. The blow caught its mid-section.
It was like kicking a curtain. Its robes billowed, tangling her leg and sending her sailing. She hit the ground hard. On her back, she looked up into its face.
It was bone-white and eyeless with a dark, puckering mouth. Its breath was sickly sweet—a mixture of rotting fruit and burning sugar cane. It reared back, one arm up, and its sleeve fell away, revealing a short, black wand in its hand.
Emily scrabbled backward, trying to gain her feet. The caretaker swung its wand as if to strike her, but Brother leapt between them and it hit him instead.
He screamed, arching his back. His body appeared pixilated, like a poorly rendered computer image. Light shone from his mouth and eyes. Sparks enveloped his skin, dissolving his flesh. Seconds later, he stood as a skeleton—then his bones fell like salt.
With a growling yell, Emily grabbed Brother’s pitchfork and plunged it into the caretaker. It gave a high-pitched squeal and deflated into a pile of rags. She stabbed again. Glancing about, she snatched up the wand and jabbed. Nothing happened. She located an indented button on the side of the wand. Pressing the button, she thrust the wand into the body. The puddle of gossamer robes disappeared in a wave of sparks.
She looked where Brother fell. His remains swirled. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I wanted to free you, but not like this.”
No one should die because of her. No one. Tears filled her eyes, thick and sticky. Alarmed, she realized she was too dehydrated to cry. She tucked the pitchfork down the back of her coat with the tines sticking up from her collar. Wand out, she approached the first caretaker. Its skeletal body was easy to miss in the voluminous robes. She located its wand and stowed both in her quiver.
Taking hold of the garment, she flapped it free of its former owner. Indecision warred within her. The robe might make a good disguise, but she couldn’t bring herself to wear it. Blood drenched the gauzy fabric. Besides, its roominess would become cumbersome if something forced her into a fight.
The sound of a shifting rock garnered her attention. She looked around and found a man crouching in the shadows watching her. He looked familiar. After a moment, she placed him as one of the caravan people she saved from the pack of hellhounds. He wore the skull of a hellhound like a helmet, and she wondered if he butchered the hound she skinned.
“Here.” She tossed the tattered robe in his direction.
It fluttered like a wounded bat. The man made no move to retrieve it.
Emily searched the ground and found a silvery disk. She picked it up. It was close to three feet across, yet weighed next to nothing. The only markings were two foot-shaped indentations.
This was what the caretakers rode to appear they were gliding. She slid her feet in place.
The disk rose.
Emily threw out her arms. It was difficult to keep her balance, but she soon got the hang of it. The controls were easy—lean forward to go, lean to either side to turn, shift back to settle to the ground. After a few practice runs, she felt confident.
She would fly over the lake of fire.
On the disk, she glided to the top of the hill and down again to the plateau. She kept close to the rocks, hoping her black coat and sooty face would keep her from being noticed. The centaurs were spaced about twenty yards apart. She doubted the disk would outrun them, but if she waited until they looked the other way—
A snuffling growl interrupted her thoughts. It sounded like a wolf laughing. Emily turned to see a demon behind her. He was huge, at least eight feet tall. For a frozen moment, she thought of the demon she killed, so small and thin. This one was twice its size. He had heavy horns on his triangular head and yellow, cat-like eyes.
Emily fell off the disk just as the demon lunged for her. She whipped a wand from her quiver and jabbed it into the bastard’s chest. It clanked as if hitting something solid, and she remembered their exoskeleton. There was no soft spot like on the smaller hellion.
With a roar of either pain or anger, he grabbed the wand and snapped it in half. Emily backed away so suddenly she fell again. Why hadn’t the wand worked? Were hell-spawn impervious?
The demon dropped to his knees, holding the spot where she hit him. She hoped to see light shine from his eyes, hoped his flesh would disintegrate, but it did not. He leaned back, panting.
Grabbing the fallen disk, Emily ran for the lake. A pair of centaurs turned. Their massive jaws revealed lion-like teeth, and their scorpion tails stood straight up. She skidded to a halt in the middle of the plateau thinking she was doomed.
A cacophony of voices rose behind her. A crowd of at least fifty people crested the hill and ran toward the centaurs. Many were armed with bones, waving them like clubs. The leader wore a hellhound skull as a helmet and a bloodied robe. He rode a caretaker disk—the disk she left behind at the place where Brother died.
“Go,” he called to her. �
��We will draw them away.”
As if his words were prophecy, the two centaurs galloped to meet the melee, leaving her path free to the lake of fire.
FORTY-ONE
With the flying disk beneath her arm, Emily rushed to the burning lake. She looked toward the fierce battle between the two centaurs and the bone-wielding mob. The centaurs used their scorpion tails to sting and swat, but the people kept fighting. Their fury bordered on insanity, as if they had no regard for their own wellbeing.
She tore her gaze away. Down in the chasm, the cliffs fell about a hundred yards to the surface of the lava. She positioned the disk on the edge, and then pulled the pitchfork from the back of her coat and held it before her like a balancing pole. Her arms trembled. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath.
Her head snapped up at the sound of panting. She glimpsed the dark shape of a running hellhound an instant before it knocked her to the side. The dog barreled into her so hard, it overshot and had to slow to turn around.
Emily sat with her back to the fire, scrabbling for the pitchfork. She pointed it at the hellhound with the handle braced against the ground. When the hound leapt at her again, she caught it in the tines and pitched it over her head.
The momentum ripped the fork from her hands. Both the hellhound and the pitchfork fell over the cliff into the lake of fire. Emily gazed at the fork in dismay. It lay on the surface for a moment, and then sank. The lava festered like an open wound—black scabs, blood-red cracks, geysers of molten rock pulsing like severed arteries. She wondered if it was possible to get across.
There came a wolfish howl. She leapt to her feet as another hellhound sprinted toward her—but this one had a person upon its back. The rider wore a hide like a coat and waved a sword.
Reaching into her quiver, she shot two arrows into the hound’s face. The hellhound dropped, pawing the arrows, and its rider tumbled over its head. He brandished the sword as he bounded up again.
It was Joey.
Emily stared as if he were from a dream. She was aware of three things—the sound of battle between the centaurs and the mob had waned, so her diversion was ending. She had only six more arrows in her quiver. And she was no longer afraid of Joey Mastrianni.
Swinging the sword before him, Joey walked toward her. He wore a maniacal grin. His sword glinted orange with firelight. “I was told to bring you in, but nothing was said about your arms and legs.”
She shot an arrow at him. He deflected it with the gleaming sword. But in the process, he turned sideways. A second arrow found his ribs. He cursed and grimaced but did not fall. When he swung the sword again, his movement was restricted.
Perfect placement. He’d bump the arrow every time he moved his right arm.
“Have you found your grandmother yet?” Joey shouted. “Sweet little old lady.”
“Bastard,” Emily said.
“Oh, I forgot. You aren’t looking for Grandma. You want your little girl.”
“Where is she?”
“In the castle. Has her own suite. Visitors at all hours. She loves it, of course. They grow up so fast.”
“Damn you.”
Emily put an arrow into his thigh, and he fell. She ran to the hellhound and grabbed one of the arrows sticking out of its face, yanking it out as she leapt over the body.
She thought the dog was dead, but it was not. It swiped at her with its massive paw and stood with the remaining arrow still in its eye socket. It was too close to shoot again, so Emily took out the caretaker wand. She jabbed the dog in the chest.
The hellhound shrieked. Light streamed from its open mouth. A wave of sparks traveled its body, disintegrating it.
Unfortunately, the bone arrow also turned to dust. Emily gawped in dismay.
Leaning on his sword, Joey gained his feet.
She faced him, wand out. “Where is my daughter?”
“You killed them. You actually killed them both,” he said, looking stunned. He touched the back of his neck.
From behind came triumphant shouts. At the battle, several people shoved one of the centaurs over the bank. A plume of magma rose skyward, holding the mob in stark relief.
Joey’s face darkened. He limped forward, waving his sword at Emily.
“Stay back.” She pointed the wand. “I will use it.” But she knew she couldn’t use such a weapon against another human being, even someone like Joey.
He lunged at her, swinging wide. Instead of striking him with the wand, she stepped inside and grabbed the arrow in his ribs. He howled as loud as any hellhound. She yanked the arrow out.
Joey fell, dropping his sword. Emily kicked it out of reach. Lip curled, she stared at him. She never wanted to kill anyone more than at that moment. But Joey couldn’t be killed, and she was running out of time. She had to leave him there.
He held his side, breathing in sobbing gasps. Must’ve punctured a lung. She grasped the arrow in his thigh and pulled. It came out easily. What a shame she wasn’t using barbed arrowheads to do more damage.
The sword was lightweight in spite of its size, and Emily had no problem wielding it. She retrieved the arrow he deflected and, sword in hand, walked to the flying disk. Mounting it, she rose into the air. Just as she cleared the bank, Joey leapt for her, grabbing the disk and hanging off the back.
His weight sent the disk plummeting. It carried them into the abyss.
FORTY-TWO
Emily screamed as she rode the falling disk into the chasm. She leaned from side to side, zigzagging, trying to knock Joey off. “Stop!” she shouted. “Let go!” Then she screamed again as the disk took another ominous plunge.
Jets of steam shot around her, and a plume of lava barred the way. She ducked underneath, cringing at the sizzle of liquid rock arcing overhead. Her coat smoked, and her face felt stiff and crisp.
“Help!” Joey shouted, jerking about.
His gyrations nearly knocked her off the disk. Glancing back, Emily saw his feet drag the surface of the lake. He burst into flames, shrieking.
The disk leveled. Emily leaned forward, flying faster. Orange glare seared her eyes. Heat shimmer distorted everything around her. The lake spat great dollops of boiling lava. Airborne embers caught in her hair and singed her cheeks. She yelled, inhaling a flurry of sparks. Grasping her chest, she coughed.
Joey quieted. She felt him shift his weight, pulling himself higher onto the disk, felt his fingers scratch the back of her boot. She chanced another backward glance. All that was left of him was his arms and his chest—everything from the waist down was burned away. He wore the remaining hellhound hide like a scarf. His scarred face looked as though it were melting—eyelids drooping, cheekbones bursting through flesh.
“Damn you!” he said, his voice gravelly.
He tried to grab her ankle. Emily would have kicked him, but she was afraid to move her feet out of the niches that propelled the disk. She swung the sword—it sliced through his forearm smoother than butter.
Joey dropped into the lava. He waved his remaining arm as if he were a drowning swimmer.
Emily continued to zigzag, picking up speed, dodging spitting magma and pockets of steam. As she sped faster, her altitude increased. She drew level with one of the land bridges.
The workers gawked, standing motionless. A few ran to parallel her. More interesting was the reaction of the many hell-spawn. They did not curse at her or throw rocks as she expected. They stared as if mesmerized. Several fell to one knee.
She pushed their strange behavior from her thoughts. The opposite bank approached. Emily realized she hadn’t risen high enough to land.
Leaning forward, she urged the disk to fly as fast as it could. At the last moment, she leapt for the bank, catching the stone lip in her midsection. She hit with an oof and scrambled to safety, panting as she hugged the ground. In the back of her awareness, she heard a roar of cheers coming from the bridges.
With a melodic gong, the flying disk slammed the cliff and fell. It floated for a moment on the surface of t
he lava before sinking. Farther away, Joey was a dot, rolling over and over upon the current of the lake.
The workers cheered as Emily ran. She expected hills on this side of the lake, but the ground was flat and smooth as if graded. Nowhere to hide. When she felt she was clear of the lake’s aura, she stopped to take stock.
Her coat continued to smoke. She took it off to inspect the damage. The hem smoldered, and she stamped it with her boot. The air was much colder, even so close to the fire pit. Within moments, the night air chilled her. Shivering, she put on her coat.
For weapons, she had her bone knife and seven arrows, not counting the bad one she’d stuck in her boot. It wouldn’t fly and wouldn’t be much help, but she couldn’t see tossing it away. She also had a caretaker wand that would stun, if not kill, a demon. And she had Joey’s sword.
She picked it up, gingerly fingering its edge, remembering how cleanly the blade had severed Joey’s forearm. She wondered if he was still alive, burning for eternity, and she felt a twinge of pity. Then she thought of all the guiltless victims he had lured to this place, and her heart hardened.
Turning her back on Joey and the lake of fire, Emily walked. The immense castle was about two hundred yards away. Towers and spires jutted into the dark sky. Light outlined hundreds of windows. Leafless trees surrounded the building as if the grounds were landscaped. Emily assumed they were the same human-absorbing trees she saw previously.
As she neared, she noted the gates—twelve in all, Gun had told her. Demons loitered at one entrance as if at a party. Farther on was a large, torch-lined drawbridge with two centaurs standing on it. The centaurs wore gleaming breastplates. Emily doubted her arrows would take them down, and she didn’t want to get close enough to their stingers to fight with a sword. She turned in the other direction where a moat surrounded the castle. It was eight feet across, too wide to jump. A familiar clicking sound grew as she approached, and she looked over the edge to see millions of scarab beetles scuttling over one another, filling the moat to scant inches from the top.
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