by Lily Luchesi
“What on God’s green Earth were you thinking? How did you even get in here?” Danny asked.
She smirked. “I saw a lot of the things in that Angelica girl’s room, so I guessed an entry code: zero-three-nine-four.”
Danny shook his head, feeling like everything was really just a millimeter out of his control ever since he met Angelica. Were the women in his life determined to drive him up the wall and straight into the mental institution? Angelica, Miranda, Fiona, and now Helena. And Angelica couldn’t have picked Jonathan Price’s birthday, or the day she killed her father, as a code? She had to pick the number that was known by nearly every human on the planet who had read Harry Potter?
Bart closed the armory doors behind them. “Okay. Explanation. Now.”
“Carrie King is my favorite author and I want to rescue her,” Helena said simply. “That is if you know where she is.”
“Bart, she’s untrained, and to have her assist is the equivalent of facilitating suicide,” Danny broke in. “I told her this last night.”
Bart held up his hands, and Danny noticed again how subtly his lycanthropy showed in his human form: the coarse hairs on his hands and forearms, his yellowish nails, and even the tint in his brown eyes hinted at his “condition”.
“I’m the one whose job is on the line here, so I will make the decision. Helena, can you shoot?” he asked.
“Of course!”
“Handheld weapons like swords or knives?”
“I never used a sword before, but I’m good with knives,” she said.
“Hand-to-hand?”
“Black Belt in three different kinds of martial arts and self-defense.”
Danny was surprised. “Then why did you fail your test to become a cop?”
Helena blushed, her rosy cheeks turning crimson. “I choked. During the final test I just freaked out. I don’t know why. I was so embarrassed!”
Bart circled her. “Well, you can’t choke in Hell.”
Both Danny and Helena said, “Hell?”
“What do you mean Hell?” Danny asked.
Bart gestured to the desk in the corner of the room, where he usually did intake, filed reports, and filled out order slips for new weaponry. “Sit down and I’ll tell you everything we know.” He waited till they were both settled to begin speaking.
“Danny, your vision a few months ago, about the woman you saw being tortured by demons? Well, Mark and I did some digging after he received a tip about seven months ago, and we found out demons were looking for someone in Hollywood, and all they had was a description. That’s why so many random vampires have been killed: they kept getting the wrong one. There have been more in other places than just Hollywood. It wasn’t until three weeks ago that we knew for sure that said person was Carrie King: author, nightclub owner, and vampire. Mark managed to get a message to her to get out of there, but this was her club and she refused to leave.
“We have good reason to believe she is who you saw in your vision, and right now she is going through the exact things you saw and worse. Mark trusted me to get a team together to go into Hell with he and I to rescue her. He just doesn’t know I picked you. We have no idea why the demons want her, but whatever reason it is, it can’t be good.”
“No really?” Danny scoffed.
“Let me finish, human,” Bart growled. “You and I both know few people are qualified for this mission, and even less would be willing to go into Hell. That narrows it down to, well, you. Mark thinks the demons want to get the law abiding vamps on their side, and she is famous enough to convince them...or they’ll kill her.”
Danny leaned across the desk. “And is that what you think?”
Bart chuckled. “Please. Don’t insult me. That might be a part of the reason, but there is so much more happening. Leander Price commands these fuckers, and if he wants vampires, it’s for more than allegiance. I also think Mark has been feeding me a line of bullshit.”
“Look, I’m already invested in this. I foresaw this. Just tell me how you plan on getting me into Hell,” Danny said.
“No other questions?” Bart asked, surprised.
He shook his head no. “Get in, get her, and bring her back here where she’s safe. Seems pretty simple in theory.”
“In theory,” Helena cut in. “That’s the key. I mean, you’re talking about Hell, Danny. We went to the same church, you know what Hell is. This isn’t going to be a search and rescue like on Law And Order.”
Danny scoffed. “No offense, but you just found out all this was real. I’ve been living with it for years. You have no place to caution me against something I have to do.”
“Why do you have to?” Helena asked. “I mean, I know why I want to, but I have no compulsory need to go rescue her. You keep saying you have to.”
Danny sighed. He was great at expressing his emotions, but he was also a person who valued privacy. Not only did his powers make him able to invade other people’s privacy, they also made him have little of his own, because his visions and what he sensed were important for others to know.
“You couldn’t understand, thankfully, because you’re not like me. I saw this even before it happened, and because of that I feel responsible for her,” he said. “Aside, there’s no one else here, as Bart said, capable of taking on this mission.”
Bart was nodding as Danny spoke. “However, if you take her along, Mancini, this is on you. I can’t exactly go to Mark and get him to sanction her...or you, for that matter.”
Danny leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him. “I already said I don’t want Helena going with me. It’s too dangerous.”
“I have to disagree,” Bart said. “I’ve been working here in the armory for thirty years, and my family trained in the Werewolf Corps. I have a sense for who can and can’t handle this shit, and I think she can. How about this: today is Mark’s day off, so you guys can use the training room and we can be sure both of you have still got it.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “It’s been ten months, not years, you ass.”
Bart stood up and walked over to the wall with the guns. “Helena— do you prefer Ms.?”
“Helena is fine,” she replied.
“All right. What’s your specialty? If I can use my expertise, you’re not going to do much damage with a thirty-eight. I’d go to a nine millimeter like Mancini. Despite it being smaller, it has more punch, because the bullet tumbles in the body. How much pull can you handle?” Bart asked her.
“Never used more than a forty caliber, and I wasn’t great with it. Nine mil it is, then,” she said as he handed her two guns and two magazines.
“Mancini, grab a forty-five. I know it’s not your usual gun, but beggars can’t be choosers and you’re going to need as much firepower as you can handle down there. Keep your regular weapon, but take one of these.”
Danny was partial to Berettas, despite Angelica’s insistence that she liked Glocks much better, so that was what he picked up off the wall of handguns. Glocks, at least the nine millimeters, didn’t have safety, and they were lighter. Since she carried a small armory with her at all times and shot first and asked questions later, it stood to reason she liked them better.
Up in the training room, Bart set up the course that Angelica had first put Danny through when he got to the PID and told Helena to have at it.
Danny stood back and watched, certain she’d wind up shooting the ceiling or something worse when she got started on the man-shaped sacks which were marked with different monster names.
The obstacle course could rival what the military had, and it had been improved upon since Danny had last used it. He watched with mild amusement as Helena wound her way through vampires, shifters, and demons. She didn’t do too poorly at first. Most of the vampire and shifter dummies would up dead, and she switched between weapons with little effort. However, when it came to the demons, she was a bit slower and did not work as well when they ganged up on her.
Danny looked to Bart for ev
aluation as Helena picked herself off the polished floor and grabbed the knife which she had sent flying a moment ago.
“Well, if this was an official test, you’d need a lot more training. But since you’ll be down on a rescue mission with Mancini, that was pretty good,” Bart said. “Mancini, your turn to train, and you can both stay here and work as long as you want to. Meet me here at an hour before sunset tomorrow and I’ll get you into Hell.”
Danny arched an eyebrow. “Let me tell you, as far as a pick up line, you’d never get many girl’s attention with that one!”
***
It was a mistake, a big fucking mistake. Helena should not be going into Hell, no matter how adept she was with weaponry and how well she knew mythological folklore. Danny had thought he was sufficiently prepared, and had quickly found out that even now he was not fully qualified and ready to face the things he had faced. If Helena had choked while picturing human perps, he could only imagine what would happen to her facing actual monsters. It was madness.
Danny spent the afternoon cleaning and loading his guns, sharpening his knives, and praying. Many people thought of Supernatural when they thought of Hell and how they pictured it. Many people were unafraid of it. Danny, a lifelong Catholic, did not have such a realistic or simple perception of Hell. His mind had been filled by priests talking about burning lakes of fire, horned demons, and Lucifer with his pitchfork ready to torture the souls of sinners. He was no longer a child attending Catechism classes, but those images still haunted his nightmares at times.
He had seen many people die, and he did not want to see someone else perish because of his association with them. Especially not there.
The drive to the PID felt like much longer than twelve miles; he finally understood what convicts felt walking the Green Mile in that book he’d read. Michigan Avenue seemed to stretch on for an eternity before he finally reached the building. Bart and Helena were standing off to the side, out of view of the security cameras.
“We need to hurry,” Bart said without greeting. “Mark has been talking about how badly we need to go into Hell, and I can’t tell him anything till you’ve both already gotten through the portal. Come on.”
Danny and Helena followed him through the side alley and into a back entrance that had been padlocked and warded.
Bart dismantled the wards and unlocked the door while wearing gloves to protect him from being injured by the silver in the lock. The door opened into a dimly lit staircase leading downwards.
“Do I want to know?” Helena asked, her face the color of cottage cheese. Her freckles were standing out startlingly now.
“Follow me and I’ll explain. The morgue is not the lowest level of this building.” Bart began his descent, and Danny gently put his hand on the small of Helena’s back, encouraging her to follow. He had to admit, he wasn’t exactly rushing to go down those stairs himself.
“Looks like we’ve got a staircase to Hell,” Danny commented. As usual, no one appreciated his humor.
Along with the unsettling lighting, there were maroon smears on the walls, and Danny could make out some demon-repelling symbols. He assumed that it was blood and a shiver traveled down his spine. They walked single file down the steps for two flights, and Danny felt a reversal of sensation. The further underground you go, it usually gets colder, whereas heat rises. It was getting warmer by the second.
They finally met their destination, which was a large room, all of it painted with various symbols, all in blood, many of which gave Danny the creeps.
“Welcome to what Angelica used to call Chicago’s Ground Zero. When she was drunk, she’d call it, ‘Ground Six-Six-Six’. There are three portals to get you into Hell in America, and this building just happens to be built over one of them, and the Church of Satan has tried very hard to get us to open it up to their local worshippers. Naturally they were met with ‘go fuck yourself’ every time they asked her, and sometimes she wasn’t even that polite to them.
“To get to Hell, you need one of these portals. If you are nowhere near a portal, you can use the blood of a vessel possessed by a demon. I made a quick drawing of the symbol you’d need in case you need to make a quick getaway down there.” He gave Danny and Helena a piece of paper with a pentacle with open ends and an arrow at the top of each point, and a short incantation.
Helena was looking around, confusion clouding her face. “Where is the actual portal?”
“Hidden, for the moment. Lucifer was the inventor of dark magic, and to access the darkest of them, such as a portal to the Underworld, a blood sacrifice is required,” Bart explained. He took out a jeweled silver and gold knife. “I have no other advice for you guys. Once there, you have to rely on your instincts.”
Danny nodded. “Let’s do this before anyone changes their minds.” He held the palm of his hand out and Bart made a shallow cut along the palm and blood welled up, but Danny felt little pain. This was a magicked knife, and he knew the wound would heal on its own quickly.
“You need to say it with me,” Danny told Helena.
She nodded and Danny held his bleeding palm over the floor beneath them.
“Aditus ad inferos, ut placatus admitte in ventrem et in sanguine.”
Danny and Helena leaped back as the blood hit the floor and began to bubble, as though the ground was hot enough to boil it. The blood spread on its own, becoming the symbol Bart had given them. In a flash of reddish light, it began to glow.
“Hurry. The longer you’re down there, the worse you’ll feel,” Bart urged.
Helena grabbed Danny’s hand for dear life and he let her, knowing she had to be dying inside. For a first day on the job, this was intense.
Danny squeezed her hand and they stepped forward together into the abyss.
Chapter Five
“The demons will catch us before we can even attempt to find Carrie,” Helena said, glancing around. Hell was...well, it wasn’t what church had taught her to expect. There was no lake of fire and no screams of the damned as they were tortured. At least, not on this level. They were in a grey stone hallway with cells, like jail. None of the cells near them were occupied. It was hot, however. Sweat was beading on her temples and back.
“Not if we split up,” Danny said, not seeming at all perturbed by where they were. She decided he was either partially insane or had a great poker face.
“Are you crazy?” Helena said. “That’s what victims always do in horror novels and one or both of them usually wind up slaughtered!”
Danny laughed. How could he laugh while they were in Hell? “This isn’t fiction, Helena. With few exceptions, nothing is like those books you read or TV shows you watch. I’ll take the northwest hall and you take the southeast. Meet back here if we can.”
“I don’t know if I’m trained enough for this,” Helena said. She felt more sweat prickle on the back of her neck, more from worry than the heat down there. She had been so confident, but now she was feeling that familiar fear slinking through her bloodstream.
“No one is,” Danny commented. “You think just because I’ve been doing this for years means I’m capable of accomplishing this mission? I’m not. I can think of one person who might be able to handle this and not break a sweat, but unfortunately she isn’t here, so it’s up to us. You’ve got to be confident. You asked to come, remember.”
She sighed, gripping the edge of the sword she had been given like a vise. “I know, and I’m going to do my best.”
“That’s all we can hope for,” Danny said. He patted her shoulder and then went down his hall.
She sighed again, wishing that he had given her a kiss or even a hug. No. He was still hung up on “AC”, the girl who had inscribed his books. Helena wished she could find this girl and throttle her, this Angelica Cross. She was the reason Danny would never want her the way she wanted him.
She started down the hall, noticing that, the further she walked, the hotter it got. She wiped sweat from her brow with her gloved hand. It didn’t help tha
t she was carrying extra weaponry in case Carrie was well enough to defend herself after they found her. Should’ve ditched the jacket, she thought, turning a corner. As she went further into the bowels of Hell, she noticed that the cells had occupants. Humans, demons, vampires, and werewolves lined the hall. They even had identifying numbers above the cells, like a real jail.
So this is where the souls of the PID perps end up after they’re executed, she thought, staying as close to the middle of the hall as she could to avoid reaching claws and fangs. As she made another sharp turn, she saw the hall was ending. Having the presence of mind to hide behind the last corner to observe, she saw two demons in hulking meat suits guarding a door. The door was silver and iron, with religious carvings in it. Above the door was a wooden cross and a wreath of garlic. Classic vampire proofing.
She remembered what Danny and that werewolf, Bart, had been saying, that Carrie was a vampire, because the other victims had been vampires as well. Hell had been looking for an influential vampire. Whatever vamp that was being guarded in there had to be important. No other cell had guards. There was a great chance that Carrie King, acclaimed horror novelist, was being held in there. It also meant that she was still alive. The truly dead don’t need to be guarded.
Thankfully her father had been in the Chicago Police Department, and she had been taught to shoot from a young age. These two demons could be shot with consecrated bullets and, if not killed, at least made immobile. She should have the advantage on them.
Taking a calming breath, she whipped her gun out, clicked the safety off and rushed around the corner, firing bullets and mortally wounding both demons. They shrieked an unearthly noise as they were hit, and the demonic essence left them in great gobs of black sludge in place of blood. The sludge did not stay by the bodies like blood, however: it started slinking away like slugs.
