The Wings of Heaven and Hell (The Arcadian Steel Sequence Book 1)

by L. M. Peralta

  “Bob, does Sheol have MP3 players?”

  “You want an MP3 player?”

  “Sure,” I shrugged. “If you got one lying around.”

  Our feet tapped on the marble as Bob and I walked across the floor to the courtroom. I wished I had worn two sweaters. This courtroom was colder than the one in New Orleans if I remembered correctly.

  I hadn’t entered a courtroom in ten years. It smelled like aged carpet and old books.

  Bob opened the doors of the courtroom and gestured for me to walk inside. The room was packed tighter than a rattlesnake in an ant farm.

  Demons talked and laughed. Some looked like people although many had black eyes. Others looked like the creature I saw in my high school bathroom with charred skin and blood red eyes.

  “This is the most exciting entertainment in Sheol,” Bob said.

  Exciting entertainment. I’d been to quite a few court hearings as a foster kid. Once I was placed with a foster family, I went to court every five or six months until I was adopted. Exciting wasn’t the word I would use to describe a court proceeding.

  “Trust me,” said Bob. “You’ll have fun.” He gestured to an empty seat near the front of the courtroom.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Well, you see, I have a special seat.” He pointed at a chair off to the side of the judge’s bench. He left me on my own in a sea of demons.

  The woman next to me glanced over. She had large teeth and a rail thin body. She looked human, but her face was too symmetrical, too perfect. “Oh,” she said, “you know Bub.”

  “Bub?” She must have a strange accent.

  “Oh, I call him Bub because it’s closer to his real name.” She winked.

  I thought Bob’s full name was Robert. I’d never considered that it could be anything else.

  Bob took his seat.

  A railing separated the audience from the judge’s bench and the two tables up front. Two men in suits sat at either table. They were the prosecution and defense attorneys.

  The man at the left table wore a pin-striped suit, and his hair was slicked back with gel that made the hair look plastic. The man on the right wore a brown suit and glasses. Another man sat with him at the table, the defendant. Although he slumped in his chair, his torso was longer than his attorney’s. His skin was as pale as a corpse.

  A door opened behind the judge’s bench, and Lucifer took a seat. Instead of a black judge’s robe, she wore a long, blood red robe of the same style, length, and texture. Her dark hair was pin straight. Her burgundy red lipstick matched her red heels, which I caught a glimpse of when she walked in. She was a flame, commanding my attention.

  I expected the courtroom to quiet down once Lucifer entered, but the conversation and laughter continued.

  I knew to rise when the judge entered so I stood, but no one else did. When I was about to sit back down, a man stood up from behind the short railing. The bailiff? He shouted, “Get up everybody! Get up!”

  A few people listened. The rest only laughed.

  “Okay,” said Lucifer. “Sheol versus Malzal.”

  No one told us to sit back down, but the people who did stand, including me, slowly went back to their seats.

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” said the man in the pin-striped suit, “Virgil Geoffrey Netherson for Sheol.”

  “Morning, Your Honor.” The man in the brown suit stood and wiped his sweaty forehead on a napkin. “Ambrose B. Letchfield for the defense.”

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” said Lucifer. “Mr. Netherson.”

  “Your Honor, the deciding factor on whether Mr. Malzal is guilty is the answer to this question: Did he meet his quota?” said Netherson. “The answer to that question is no.”

  The audience howled with laughter.

  Netherson continued. “As the record shows, the defendant was commissioned to collect one thousand souls, yet he has only submitted contracts for nine hundred and ninety-two souls.”

  “Your Honor,” Letchfield interrupted, “if I may, Mr. Malzal doesn’t deny that he failed to meet his quota, but he would like to mitigate his punishment with a defense.”

  “I will hear any testimony related to mitigation of the punishment at the sentencing hearing,” said Lucifer. “Does your client wish to plead guilty and move onto sentencing?”

  “No, Your Honor,” said Letchfield. “We would like to proceed with trial.”

  “Alright.” Lucifer sighed and rested her chin in her hand as she leaned her elbow against the judge’s bench. “Prosecution, bring forth your witnesses.”

  “The Prosecution rests, Your Honor. I believe the record speaks for itself,” said Mr. Netherson.

  “Objection,” said Letchfield. “Despite what Mr. Netherson says, nothing has been introduced into the record.”

  “Fine.” Netherson slumped his shoulders and rose from his seat. “I call Xander O’Reilly to the stand.”

  “Ooo,” several members of the audience cooed.

  A short, balding man rose from the sea of demons and approached the front of the courtroom. Demons jeered at him as he passed while others cheered. I wondered if bets had been placed.

  I raised my eyebrow as the bailiff helped him climb over the railing. Xander O’Reilly took a seat in the chair alongside the judge’s bench.

  Netherson got up from his seat and approached the witness stand. “Mr. O’Reilly, state for the Court what you do for a living.”

  The crowd laughed at Netherson’s emphasis on the word living as if that was the greatest pun imaginable.

  “I’m the records keeper for Sheol’s demon contracts. I work in Limbo.”

  “Do you know Mr. Malzal?”

  “No, not personally, but I know his quota.”

  “And what is his quota?”

  “Objection, Your Honor, hearsay.” Letchfield’s hair was plastered to his forehead by a thick layer of sweat.

  “Your Honor, I’m referring to an official, notarized document,” said Netherson.

  “No such document has been introduced,” Letchfield countered.

  “Objection sustained,” said Lucifer.

  “I’ll rephrase,” said Netherson. “How do you know his quota?”

  “I have to collect and file his contracts.”

  “Ah ha,” said Netherson. A ripple of excitement ran through his voice. He reached for a folder on his desk and withdrew a sheet of paper. “And what is this?” he asked the witness.

  “Why, that’s Malzal’s contract.”

  “Ah…” the audience trailed off.

  “And what does it say?”

  “It says that Malzal had one hundred years to collect a thousand souls in exchange for one hundred years in the Outer Region.”

  “And how many sales contracts for souls did he produce after that one-hundred-year period?”

  “Nine hundred ninety-two.”

  “I have no further questions for this witness.” Netherson went back to his seat.

  Lucifer looked to the defense attorney. “Mr. Letchfield.”

  Letchfield remained seated. “No questions, Your Honor.”

  Xander O’Reilly left the stand, and as he attempted to climb back over the railing, he fell onto the other side. Giggles erupted from the audience. When O’Reilly stood back up, they threw apples at him as he walked down the aisle. The apples were bruised, and their mealy guts spread across the floor.

  “Mr. Netherson?” Lucifer’s voice rang through over the noise of the crowd.

  “The prosecution rests.”

  “I have one witness,” said Letchfield. “I call my client, Mr. Malzal.”

  Malzal glanced at his attorney with a look of pale horror. Letchfield whispered to him, and Malzal nodded. He walked up to the witness stand and took a seat.

  “Mr. Malzal, were you able to make your quota this century?” asked Letchfield.

  “No.” Malzal whispered.

  “Speak up,” said Lucifer.

  “No.” Malzal increas
ed his volume.

  “Why weren’t you able to?”

  “I was stuck in a possession.” Two bulbous nubs appeared at the temples of Malzal’s large forehead.

  “Will you please explain?”

  “Sure, a young girl…woman. I had to have her.”

  I cringed at his choice of words.

  “So, you possessed her?” asked Letchfield.

  “I did, and it set me back. I had to wait until I was exercised, but as you know priests aren't the go-to-guys nowadays. Instead, her parents brought her to a hospital where the doctors put her on all kinds of psychotic drugs. The drugs affected me, and I got…trapped.”

  “The involuntary drugs you were given prevented you from letting go of the possession?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.” Netherson didn’t bother to get up from his seat. “Leading.”

  “Sustained,” Lucifer said.

  “What stopped you from letting go of the girl?”

  “They pumped her with drugs. I took over her body so the drugs affected me too. I couldn’t think straight enough to get out.” Ridged points poked out from Malzal’s skin where the nubs had been.

  “How were you able to escape?”

  “I threw a fit. Had her speak a little Latin. Threw stuff around the house. Floated up to the ceiling. The whole bit. So, her parents called for a priest. They were scared out of their wits. At first the priest refused, but I blabbered in several different languages and floated above the bed.”

  Malzal’s teeth were as sharp and needle-like as a cobra’s. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? The Veil was lifting. “After that, he decided to perform the exorcism. The exorcism was unofficial and all, but still worked. I crawled from the Second Circle of Sheol back to the Outer Region, explaining all along the way that I had contracts that needed to be delivered.”

  My thoughts burned. Malzal escaped the Second Circle. That meant that Nash and the others had a chance.

  “And how long were you possessed before you were able to escape?”

  “Three years. The last three years of my contract.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Malzal. I’m so sorry you had to go through that ordeal. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Anything for this witness, Mr. Netherson.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Netherson remained seated with his pen in the corner of his mouth. He pointed the pen at Mr. Malzal when he spoke. “So, you possessed a girl, and you got stuck?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you have to possess her? Was that part of your contract?”

  “No, but…”

  “You just wanted to, is that right?”

  “Well, sure I wanted to but…” The horns curled above his head, twisting from their fleshy nubs.

  “In fact, you had three more years left before you decided to take that little vacation.”

  “Is there a question?” asked Letchfield.

  “Nothing further, Your Honor.”

  Malzal quietly left the witness seat and shuffled back to his attorney. His forehead wrinkled, forcing his eyebrows low above his eyes as the weight of the horns pressed the skin down.

  “Do you have any other witnesses?” Lucifer tapped her long, dark fingernails against the bench.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “I’ll hear closing now.”

  Netherson stood up and straightened his jacket. “Your Honor, what we have here is a simple breach of contract. Malzal was asked to deliver a thousand souls to Sheol. He was given an adequate period of one hundred years, and yet he chose to wait until the last three years of his contract to take a siesta inside some girl. Your Honor, I ask that you find this man guilty.”

  The crowd hooted, and demons clapped.

  “Your Honor.” Letchfield raised his voice. “Mr. Malzal toiled for one hundred years to deliver Sheol one thousand souls. He was a mere eight souls short of his quota due to the fact that he was wrongfully imprisoned. I ask that you consider that in your decision, Your Honor, and find Mr. Malzal innocent of these charges.”

  Letchfield wiped his forehead and patted his client’s shoulder.

  “I have considered the testimony and the evidence.” Lucifer twined her fingers together. “I find that Mr. Malzal has indeed violated his contract, and despite his excuses, I find him guilty.”

  “Move for sentencing,” said Netherson.

  “Of course,” said Lucifer.

  “Please Your Honor, give us time to prepare.”

  “No, you’ve had your captive audience, Mr. Letchfield. I’ll proceed with the sentencing now. Alright. Before the Court imposes a sentence, I will call upon each attorney. Is there anything else you two would like to gab about?”

  “No, Your Honor,” said Netherson.

  “My client would like to say something, Your Honor.”

  “If he must.”

  Malzal stood. “Your Honor, Morning Star.”

  A few snickers emanated from the audience.

  The horns, brown and twisted, rose three feet above Malzal’s head. “Your Honor, I humbly ask that you allow me to fulfill the remainder of my contract plus one thousand more souls. I can get those souls for you in less than fifty years.”

  “You couldn’t get those souls for me in a hundred.”

  “Please, Your Honor. I ask that you not condemn me to the Circles. I’m deeply sorry for this whole ordeal. Please let me continue to gather souls for you.”

  Lucifer snickered. “You committed adultery in your former life and were to spend eternity in the Second Circle, isn’t that right, Mr. Malzal?”

  Malzal nodded. “That’s right, Your Honor.”

  “And the only reason that you’re not in the Second Circle, is because I allowed you to gather souls for me.”

  Malzal remained silent.

  “It is by my grace, that you aren’t swept up in a whirlwind of filth and lust, having your flesh ripped off for an eternity by its powerful blasts. You know what that makes you, Mr. Malzal? A traitor. And if there’s one sin more deplorable than all the others, it’s treachery. Especially when it’s against me. I hereby sentence you…”

  Silence hung over the room for the first time in the entire proceeding.

  “…to the Pit.”

  Laughter, cheers, and boos echoed through the room as Lucifer smiled from her bench.

  Malzal’s face went paler as two burly officers took him by each arm. His attorney whispered to him, but the pained expression on Malzal’s face didn’t fade as he was carried away.

  “Please, Your Honor,” Malzal shouted, “send me to the Ninth Circle. I beg you, please!”

  Lucifer rose from her seat. “Court is adjourned.” She slammed the gavel.

  BOB drove me back to Nash’s house. As the car idled outside the garage, I asked, “Why did you show me that?”

  “I wanted you to see what it’s really like down here,” he said. “You got to see what very few people do before they have to choose. You got a chance to see Hell the way Lucifer runs it. What Nash has, he had to screw someone over to get it, maybe even a lot of people. You shouldn’t be so worried about him.”

  “I’m not fighting angels until he comes back.” My voice was firm and didn’t waver. Did Bob think he could get me to stop caring about Nash?

  Bob shrugged. “I tried.” He flashed me a mouth of white teeth. “In Sheol, you have to look out for number one. Sometimes that means destroying parts of yourself. The part of you that has loyalty to Nash is going to get you in a lot of trouble. I suggest you burn it away before your whole being is in the fire.”

  I reached for the handle.

  “Just remember,” he said. “In Hell, a man chooses himself over everybody else.”

  I opened the car door and slammed it behind me.

  Later that afternoon, I went to Nash’s library. I scanned the books for any titles that might help me to find out more about the Circles. I found one titled, Seven Princes, Nine Circles.

  I opened the book
. I wanted to know everything I could about the Ninth Circle. Maybe I could help Nash and the others out.

  I found a brief description near the beginning of the book. The Ninth Circle was reserved for those who committed treachery. It is divided into four rounds each beneath a frozen, icy lake. The worse the sin, the deeper the tortured are buried.

  I leafed through the book to find a more detailed description. My fingers flew from page to page as I searched for words that might be relevant to my search. I stopped when I turned the page to a picture of a large fly with bulbous red eyes. The caption read that this creature was Beelzebub, one of the seven princes of Hell, right-hand man to Lucifer herself. He is the demon of gluttony.

  The words of the woman in court came back to me. “Bub…it’s closer to his real name.”

  Beelzebub. Bob?

  THIRTEEN

  IT was midnight, and still I could find nothing to help me formulate a rescue plan to save Nash, Adrianna, Kiran, and Chandra.

  I read books upon books about the Circles, and all I found out so far was that they’re terrible. Each Circle was a different level of torture from being torn apart by hellhounds to being trapped inside a fiery tomb.

  I slammed the big book onto the coffee table.

  Tom lounged on the couch as he looked through one of his great tomes. He jumped when the book hit the table.

  “How can you just sit there?” I said. “We have to find a way to get Nash and the others out of the Circles.”

  Tom swung his feet to the floor and grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the table. “We’re not going to do that.” He bit into the apple.

  “We have to do something.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “You don’t just walk out of the Ninth Circle. What Nash did was very stupid. Some demon down there is probably making him his bitch right now.”

  I folded my arms and sunk down on the opposite end of the couch. “So, what, we give up?”

  “We give up on Nash, yes,” said Tom. “But Bob found us a new team. We’ll have to work with them. If we don’t, it’s the Pit.”

  “I thought they were your friends.”

  “You can’t keep friends in Hell.”

  You can’t keep friends anywhere.