by Jim Butcher
Jim went back up the hill. The fire licked at the grass and caught some more wind and grew wilder, and then the bear got caught up in it as well, the conflagration chewing his fur and cackling over his flesh like a crazed hag. The fire licked its way down the hill, and then the wind changed and Jim saw the fire climbing up toward him.
He got in the car and started it and found a place where he could back it around. It took some work, and by the time he managed it onto the narrow trail, he could see the fire in the mirror, waving its red head in his direction.
Jim drove down the hill, trying to remember the route. Behind him, the fire rose up into the trees as if it were a giant red bird spreading its wings.
"Dumb bear," he said aloud. "Ain't gonna be no weenie pull now, is there?" And he drove on until the fire was just a small bright spot in the rearview mirror, and then it was gone and there was just the tall, dark forest that the fire had yet to find.
Hell in a Handbasket
LUCIEN SOULBAN
The basket sat at the foot of the Infernos red-hot, iron-wrought gates, below the steaming plate that read
ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE! The Ominous
warning was wasted on the ebony-skinned baby, however, and it continued babbling. A burp followed; it giggled and cooed and the whole of the Underworld paused for a moment, pitchforks held frozen and tortures forgotten in media res.
"What the Hell was that?" a few demons were heard to whisper. But nobody wanted to be the chump to go and find out. Nobody volunteered in Hell. That, and sing-alongs, were frowned upon.
The ever-vigilant Cerberus, Guardian of the Gates of Hell and Angry Mutt of Damnation, padded up to the basket and looked around, confused and perhaps even surprised. He never saw who'd deposited the basket or why. Two of Cerberus's flanking heads peered around, while the middle one sniffed the basket carefully.
Yup ... baby, most definitely, the heads agreed.
Cerberus's middle head considered swallowing the child whole.
"Do it, do it!" the left head whispered gruffly, obviously not interested in taking the risk itself. "You know you want to. All soft and juicy ... just like we like 'em."
"I wouldn't do that," the right head counseled in a singsong tone, admonishing the left head. "Who leaves a child at the Gates of Hell? Or better yet, why? No, we should hand it off to someone who doesn't think with their stomach. Prudence is the better course here."
The middle head sighed and decided it best to delegate this chore to someone else; the three heads craned upward and Cerberus unleashed a ghastly howl. The gates opened slowly.
Roiling clouds of steam emanated from the cracks in the brass sidewalks of Dis; the screams of the damned and a thick blood clot of humidity saturated the air. Basket in hand, the demon Mastema, slayer of Egypt's firstborns, walked along, his cloven hooves sending sparks from the metal ground and scattering tinny echoes across the already noisy avenues. His once-perfect flesh remained scored and cracked from his plummet down, while the remnants of blackened feathers and scorched bones dangled from the shattered tree of his wings.
Mastema walked into the Great Assembly Hall, past several of Hell's senators and into the amphitheatre-style council chambers where Gressil, Devil of Slothfulness and Vile Slacker of the Pits, had convened a session. Only
Gressil wasn't present; he was slacking off somewhere, much to nobody's surprise. Gressil's calls for a council were a national holiday in Hell, and everyone looked forward to propping their hooves up for the day.
That left the chambers relatively empty of all but a dozen damned. Mastema dropped the basket on the central dais of iron, immediately attracting the attention of those present.
"Anyone order this kid?" Mastema asked the assembled throng.
"Kid?" a voice asked.
Mastema looked up to see the human-looking Gaap hanging upside down from the ceiling's cathedral rafters. Bat wings unfurled from his human form, and he dropped to the floor with frightening grace.
"What d'ya know," Gaap said. "It is a kid. What happened, Mastema? Miss one of the Pharaoh's firstborn?"
"One, he's not Egyptian," Mastema said. "Try to stay current. And two, I was following orders."
By now, the remaining devils and demons moved to the dais, craning their long necks and clucking to gain a better view of the child. The baby appeared delighted by the attention.
"Right," Gaap said, ribbing a fellow demon with his elbow. "Following orders. I think there's a few Nazis in the Seventh and Eighth Circles still singing that tune."
"The Egyptians invented beer," Mastema said. "I got nothing against them."
"Good point," Gaap replied.
"So," Mastema said. "Anyone order the kid?"
"Ooh, I did, I did." The demon deer Furfur spoke this
time, He of the Unholy Venison, jumping up and down with cloven delight.
"Yeah?" Mastema asked, looking into the basket. "If you ordered him, what's he look like?"
"Small 'n black 'n soft," Furfur said, licking his chops.
"Sounds about right," Harpy said, looking inside the basket. She lifted the baby's diaper and stole a peek inside. "Ohhh. Sorry, Furfur. Did Mastema say 'he'? You almost had it right except for that pesky genitals thing. It's a she.
"Darn."
"Well, how am I supposed to tell?" Mastema grumbled. "I'm about as anatomically correct as a Barbie doll."
"And they sent you down to kill the firstborn sons?" Gaap said with a barking laugh.
"Shut up," Mastema replied. "I got most of them, didn't I?"
"What have we here?" a new voice asked. Everyone turned as Vassago, Demon of Prophesy and the Kool Kat of Hell, walked up to the group. His large red wings melted into his back and vanished out of sight; otherwise, he looked human with his charming smile and combed-back brown hair. He was sporting a gray blazer and trousers.
"You order this kid?" Mastema asked.
A grin crept across Vassago's face and he pushed past the others to peer inside the basket. "Well... isn't she a cutie," he said, genuinely delighted. "Who she belong to?"
Mastema shrugged.
"Maybe we should split her," Gaap said, running his scalpel-like claws across the sides of the basket.
"That's your answer for everything," Vassago said, tickling the baby's dimpled chin. She cooed and grabbed his finger.
"Seriously, Gaap," Harpy said. " 'Let's split Hitler,' you said. All I got was his pinky; at least you got a leg."
"I got his mustache," the wolf-headed Mammon said, stroking the stache on his upper lip.
"Looking good, Mammon," Harpy replied.
"Well, I think I should eat her," Mammon said. "As the Demon of Avarice, it would be bad for my image if I didn't."
"Nobody's eating her," Vassago said.
A cacophony of voices broke out in dissent and a few demons began pushing each other away. Vassago decided to end the argument.
"Fine . . . we'll settle this according to the Old Ways, the Dead Ways," Vassago said. A hush fell over the chambers.
"Fight to the death," someone whispered. "No! Choose a champion to battle for her meat," someone else countered.
Vassago shook his head and picked up the child. "Older than that," he replied. He licked her exposed tummy with his snaking tongue. She giggled. "There ... I licked her, she's mine now."
"Since when is that a rule?!" Harpy protested.
"Fine, if you don't care about the Old Ways and the traditions set by the Ancient Ones, then go ahead and take her," Vassago replied casually. Several hands and claws reached out for the child, but it was Harpy that snatched her away by the legs with a triumphant shriek. The infant,
however, seemed not the least discomforted being in her iron claws or upside down. A few demons seemed ready to tackle Harpy, however, infant and all.
"Of course," Vassago said, his words smooth, "you are running a risk here."
"What d'ya mean?" Furfur asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Like what if someo
ne else ordered the child?" Vassago asked with a shrug. He began walking away. "Like Belial... or Asmodeus."
"Oh yeah," some of the demons whispered.
"Asmodeus ... I forgot about him," Furfur said. "He's a mean drunk."
"Best you left the girl in my care," Vassago said.
"Thanks, but no thanks," Harpy replied. "She's mine to devour."
Vassago slowly walked away, nonplussed in demeanor but listening carefully to the exchange at his back.
"Stop touching her, Beelzebub. You're getting flies all over her," Harpy said.
"ZZZZzzzzz!"
"Oh, for the love of...! Does anyone here understand what Beelzebub is saying? Mastema?"
"No. And the last time I tried talking to him, he regurgitated all over me," Mastema replied.
Quickly, the sounds of discord echoed through the Great Assembly Hall, the gathered and growing throng of demons fighting with Harpy for the child. And through the angry voices and the shouting and screaming, Vassago knew the baby would come to him eventually. Only he knew what she was, and only he knew how to deal with her.
Harpy tore through the air, the infant in the iron-clawed talons of her feet. Other demons tried flying after her, but she was faster and more cunning than them all. She darted in between the spires and thorny pinnacles of Dis's cathedral roofs, through broken windows and back out again, each time losing more pursuers. Finally, she soared high into the sky, heading for one of the abandoned churches growing down from the cavern's ceiling. Harpy settled into the crumbling niche of a red tower, behind the wailing statue of a demonic saint.
Satisfied nobody had followed her, Harpy held the child up with both hands. She smiled, her shredding, malicious grin stretched from ear to ear. The infant girl, however, chirped and cooed, much to Harpy's discomfort. Her large black eyes seemed to suck in everything around her.
"You're too stupid to be afraid, aren't you?" Harpy whispered. "Oh yes you are, oh yes you are," she said in a suddenly playful voice before pursing her lips against the infant's stomach and blowing mouth farts against her satin skin. "Who's a silly little girl!" Harpy chirped. "You are! You are!" Harpy and the child laughed out loud.
The smile, however, quickly vanished from Harpy's lips. "Wait," she said. "What am I doing?" For a moment, she felt displaced, seven leagues from the center of herself. This wasn't her. She should be tearing into the flesh of this infant, not playing with her, not engaging in nonsensical talk.
Harpy strengthened her resolve and stared at the infant with all the cruelty and malice she could muster. She would tell the child the horrible fate about to befall her, the hellish torture awaiting her. Harpy would explain in visceral detail how she was going to skin the scream-
ing baby and suck up her strands of flesh like spaghetti. She smiled at her own cruelty and opened her mouth to
speak.
"Cootchy cootchy coo!" Harpy hissed. Her eyes widened and she tried talking again. "Boobiwooboo," she said, her words trapped in babyspeak.
The child obviously approved; she giggled and jumped up and down in Harpy's grasp.
"Stop it!" Harpy wanted to say, but more nonsense spilled out instead. She tried to squeeze the infant to stop her from laughing, but the little girl giggled as Harpy tickled her with nary a scratch from her dagger talons.
"Cotchy coo!" Harpy screamed. She tried to let go of the laughing baby, to watch her plummet, but could not. The young girl was somehow glued to her hands. She tried to shake the child loose, but instead bounced her up and down gently.
I know, Harpy thought, her mind twisting and slipping in panic. I'll corrupt the child! After cradling the baby in her feathered lap, Harpy slid one sharp talon across her own wrist, drawing out her tarlike blood. It boiled and bubbled against the demon's skin, and she reveled at the thought of blistering the child's flesh. The infant opened her mouth expectantly and Harpy squeezed her own arm to force the turgid blood to flow quicker.
White droplets fell into the baby's mouth instead. Harpy shrieked and stared at the ivory blood flowing from her wrist.
Milk! she realized in horror. My blood's turned to milk. Before Harpy could stop the little girl, the child latched her mouth onto one of her calloused nipples and began
feeding. Harpy was lactating, and she couldn't pull the defenseless child from her breast.
She shrieked again, a wail that pierced the very corridors of Dis.
Vassago crossed the shag-carpeted floor of his creamy yellow bachelor pad. A Sinatra record, spinning out the best of the Vegas hits, played softly in the background, and his home smelled of sandalwood and a fresh ocean breeze. A cool wind filtered through the white curtains, and the rapid knocking persisted.
Hell's Suave Playboy opened the door to the tempest and infernal heat of Dis; the glamours filling his house shuddered slightly but held against the realities of the Underworld. Outside his door was Hell. Inside was Hollywood, circa 1960s. A golden time, he thought.
"Why, Harpy," Vassago said, smiling at the demon at his door. "How nice to see you."
"Bite me!" she said, thrusting the child in his direction. "You take her."
"Certainly," Vassago replied. He cradled the child and raised an eyebrow at Harpy. "You look . .. radiant. Motherhood agrees with you."
"I'm lactating!" she moaned. She grabbed one breast and pointed it at him. Milk dribbled down from her exposed nipple.
"Thank you, but I'm not thirsty," Vassago said.
"Furfur wants a sip!"
"Who wouldn't! Don't dribble on the carpet, dear," Vassago said kindly.
"Wait!" Harpy protested, looking for some trade to make good on giving the baby away, but Vassago closed the door with his foot as he turned around. The door slammed in her face and the smell of brimstone evaporated.
"Aren't you the cute one," Vassago said, stroking the baby's chin. She giggled in return, her Afro still wild and untamed. He sat in a molded chair, its white cushioned pads arched up the high back, and played with her for a while.
"Now," he said, a knowing grin splashed across his face, "do I call you Eve? Or the Serpent?"
The infant girl clapped her hands in approval and bounced in his grip.
"Right, Eve ... of course. The serpent is our domain, isn't it?" he said, and continued to play and laugh right alongside her.
Eve slept on the wide-lipped couch, her tiny fists bunched up at her chest, her face filled with innocent trust. Vassago smiled at her. He may have had his shortcomings, but he genuinely liked humans. They were a delightful species and highly inventive. In fact, after Applegate with Eve pulling a Yoko Ono on Adam and the Garden of Eden, Vassago came to appreciate humans all the more. They were no longer chimpanzees with souls.
The knocking persisted.
Vassago took a moment to compose himself before opening the door. Koka and Vikoka, the twin demon generals of Kali, stood waiting. They towered above the door, their once feral and fearful countenances surprisingly shy and darting. They appeared nervous and uncertain in their
posture, which was unlike the twin ambassadors from the Realm of Hungry Ghosts. Koka played with the skulls wrapped around his neck; Vikoka looked even more crimson and fidgeted with the weighted and bloodied yellow sash around his waist.
"Yes?"
"Hello, Mr. Vassago," Koka said. "We, uh ... we heard you have a human infant?"
News travels fast, Vassago thought. Soon his house would be inundated with demon callers trying to woo Eve out of his charge and onto their dinner plates. "Yes, she is," Vassago said.
"Can she, uh, come out to play?" Vikoka asked, beaming with a nasty grin. Bits of hair and flesh from his last meal lay wedged between his teeth and tusks.
"I'm afraid not," Vassago said. He tried closing the door, but Koka gently stopped it with his hand.
"Well, I'm sure as you know, we serve Kali," Koka said earnestly.
"And as you also know," Vikoka added, "we need sacrifices to keep her sated, lest she awakens in a terrible bloodlust."
"She's not a morning person," Koka confided with a whisper.
"Yes, yes," Vassago said, massaging the bridge of his nose. Each ritual murder was supposed to forestall the arrival of Kali by one millennium and blah blah blah. Western Hell had enough of its conditions and qualifications to distract a demon for a lifetime without throwing Asia's into the mix. It was, after all, the original bureaucracy. "Yes, well, when Kali rises, I'll be sure to bid her
good morning and match her armies against my Legions. Until then, the child stays here. Good-bye."
No sooner had Vassago closed the door than the doorbell rang again. Vassago sighed and opened it; at this rate, it would take hours for the glamours to fully shroud the reek of brimstone again.
The Succubus twins, Lilith and Naamah, had taken Koka and Vikoka's places. They were much more pleasant to look at, their naked bodies taut and covered in a skin of oil and dewlike sweat. They undulated against each other, a form of greeting Vassago highly appreciated. Why, it almost brought a black tear to his eye, but he remained suspicious. Hell was like a trailer-trash family reunion on Jerry Springer. If demons weren't fornicating with each other like country siblings, they were feuding and squabbling . . . sometimes in the middle of intercourse.
The succubae offered Vassago their best lascivious smile and ran their fingers across each other's erect nipples.
"Hiya, Vas," they said in unison, Lilith trying to entice Vassago with her come-hither-and-anywhere-else-you-like look while Naamah stole glances into the apartment. "Ladies," Vassago said, offering them a flat smile. "Remember when you said you'd invite us over to your place for dinner sometime," Lilith said. "No, not rea—"
"Well, I brought dessert," Lilith replied, pushing her smiling companion forward. "There's enough of her for both of us to, uhm . .. eat."
Naamah smiled and sent her forked tongue across her
lips.
"Unfortunately, I already devoured the mortal infant," Vassago said.
"Well... pooh. Isn't there anything left?"
