by Derek Landy
The little girl said nothing.
“We’re leaving,” Amber said. “If any of your little friends try to stop us—”
“They won’t,” Abigail snapped. “Go on. Get out of here. You’re no longer welcome in this establishment.”
The kids stepped back, and Amber walked towards the stairs, expecting an attack at any moment. Milo followed.
“Your friend,” said Abigail, right when Amber’s foot was on the first step, “the Irish one. He’s burning in Hell, did you know that?”
Amber went cold.
“All vampires go to Hell,” Abigail continued. “His body might be walking and talking, but his soul is being ripped apart as we speak. What do you think about that? He’s in a kind of agony you can’t even imagine, and he’s got an eternity of it to look forward to. Maybe you’ll pass him on one of your trips back to your Master, little doggy.”
Amber would have loved to have had a comeback, but she couldn’t think of anything.
They walked up the stairs, through the darkness and out into the daylight, and crossed to the Charger. They got in and pulled on to the road.
“What do we do?” Amber asked. Her voice was hollow.
“We could go back to Desolation Hill,” Milo said. “We have Shanks’s key. It’d get us right into Naberius’s cell. We could take the chains holding him. Of course, that’d mean freeing him, and, if that happens, everyone in that town is dead.”
The seconds ticked by.
“Or we could forget about the chains,” he continued, “forget about delivering Astaroth, and focus instead of getting Kelly back. I have no doubt your parents would be ready for that, but it looks like it might be the only avenue available to us. They’re heading back to Orlando right now. We follow them, find them, wait for the right time, and make our move.”
Amber hid her face in her hands. It was all going wrong. The lunatic trucker had Clarissa. Her lunatic parents had Kelly. Ronnie and the others were dead. Glen’s soul was burning in Hell …
She looked up. “You think Abigail was telling the truth about Glen?”
Milo didn’t say anything for a bit. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe she was lying, just to mess with us. A bit of torture, you know? We’d beaten her and that was the only way she could get back at us.”
“Yeah,” said Milo. “That’s probably it.”
Amber looked out of the window. “But what if it’s true? What if Glen’s soul really is in Hell? Would it be? He was a good person when he was alive. I think there might still be a bit of good in him, even now. But that means he’d go to … he’d go to Heaven, right?”
“I don’t know much about Heaven, Amber.”
“If there’s Hell, there’s Heaven. You can’t have one without the other.”
“Why not?”
“Because … because you can’t. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“There are Demons, there’s the Blood-dimmed King,” Milo said, “and there’s a plane of existence where souls go to be tortured and consumed. This place is called Hell. These things we know for sure, because we’ve seen them. We’ve experienced them. I’ve felt the touch of the Devil, Amber. I’ve never felt the touch of God. Have you?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“True,” said Milo. “It could just mean he’s not interested in the likes of us.”
“Could … could we find it?”
“Find what?”
“Glen’s soul.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen the Blood-dimmed King’s palace, Milo. I’m pretty sure I can get there.”
“And do what?”
She hesitated. “Bring Glen’s soul back with me.”
Milo pulled over. Turned off the engine. Looked at her. “How? How do you transport a soul? Do you even know what it’d look like?”
“Those offerings we’ve collected for Astaroth, some of them have been souls. Sure, the blood my parents offered up was pure power, but other offerings have been souls. I could feel them. Couldn’t you feel them?”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Well, I could. Probably another perk of the job, you know? The jar of hearts? They were souls. The head? That person’s soul was still in there. Trapped.”
“Then those souls were carried within those body parts. But what happens, then, when the soul is extracted? What does it look like? Does it stay in one piece? What form does it take?”
“Why are you so against this?”
“Because we don’t know if it can be done, and, if it can be done, we don’t know how to do it.”
“Then we’ll get help,” she said. “Bigmouth will help me. I’ll offer him a deal. I’ll tell him I’ll take him back with me.”
“You’re really going to trust Edgar, after what he tried to do?”
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? I’d just have to hope that his need to come home outweighs any desire to betray me.”
“Amber, even if this worked, we don’t know if he’d be able to survive outside Hell.”
“Maybe he won’t, but I’d say he’d prefer that to how he’s living now.”
“This is insane,” Milo said. “You have enough to deal with right now without adding a jailbreak to the list.” She didn’t say anything, and his voice softened. “Look, if you’re going to do this, then I’m coming with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I can come and go as I please,” said Amber, “but the moment you set foot in Astaroth’s castle, he’s bound to know about it. I have to do this alone.”
“Amber …”
“I have to try, Milo. Everything else is falling apart. I have to do something now, something good, something that’ll remind me that I’m one of the good guys. Saving Glen’s soul … I have to at least try.”
Milo sighed, and scratched his stubble. “When?”
“Tonight. Let’s get out of Salt Lake City and on the road home. How long’s it going to take?”
Milo took a moment. “We’ll drive to Cheyenne tonight, start early in the morning and push on to Kansas, get there by sundown. We’ll get to Nashville late Friday, and Orlando early evening on Saturday.”
“You’re sure about that?” Amber asked. “We only have until midnight.”
“If we don’t make it, you’ve got Shanks’s key.”
“We can’t take the Charger if we use the key,” she said, “and if we can’t take the Charger then you’re at a disadvantage. Against Bill and Betty, you don’t want to be at a disadvantage.”
“We’ll make it,” he said. “We’ll get there.”
She nodded. “First stop Cheyenne,” she said. “Let’s go.”
They left Salt Lake City and the mountains flattened to hills and then to nothing, and they passed mile after mile of this same nothing. Every so often, Amber would see a cow grazing. It stopped being a big deal after a while.
The Charger skipped round whatever car or truck they came to. No sign of the Peterbilt. Amber wondered if they’d seen the last of it, if the trucker had got what he’d wanted and driven off.
She tried not to think of what horrible fate had befallen Clarissa.
They passed through Laramie, and the grass started to get a little greener and the clumps of trees more frequent, but that didn’t last long. They got to Cheyenne, drove through it and stopped at a motel on the far side. They took two rooms, but both of them went to Milo’s. Amber got changed into her yoga pants and T-shirt in the bathroom, came back out to find Milo cleaning his gun.
He looked up. “You okay?”
She gave him a shaky smile. “Just kinda … worried.”
“Understandable.”
“No, not about what I’m going to do. I’m worried about … doing it as her. The other me. I’m worried that when I shift I won’t care as much. Maybe I’ll come back. Maybe I’ll leave Glen’s soul behind.”
Milo put the gun down, and sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Hey,” he said gently.
“You might be more confident when you’re red, you might be less thoughtful – but you’re still you.”
“You didn’t see me go after that cop.”
“You stopped yourself, didn’t you? You’re still in control. You just need to remind yourself of that. Shift. Go on. Shift and we’ll continue this conversation.”
Amber nodded, and shifted.
“How are you feeling?” Milo asked. “Still worried?”
“Yeah,” Amber said.
He smiled, and sat back. “There you go. It’s definitely you under those horns. You still want to go in there and bring Glen’s soul back with you, right?”
“I guess.”
“Then that’s what you do. These forms we can take, they’re our weapons. Our armour. They’re tools we use to do what we have to do. That’s all. It’s like driving a car, Amber. As long as you stay in control, the car is an extension of the driver. It’s when you lose control that bad things happen.”
“So stay in control,” said Amber. “Sounds so easy.”
“You’re sure you want to do this?”
She took a deep breath, and let it out. “I’m sure,” she said.
“Then I’ll be here when you get back.”
She cut her palm and made a wide circle around herself. She didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye before the circle burst into flames and Milo and the motel room vanished, and she was in Hell again.
SHE FOUND BIGMOUTH HIDING from Fool, cowering in a darkened corner while his master called his name in some distant part of Astaroth’s castle. Amber coaxed him out, promising him that she wouldn’t give away his location.
“I can help you,” she said.
Bigmouth dipped his head.
“I have a friend who’s trapped in the palace of the Blood-dimmed King,” she said. “Back home, he’s a vampire, but his soul is here. I need to get it out. If you help me do that, I’ll take you with us when we go.”
Bigmouth shook his head so vigorously that his jaw looked like it might detach itself with all the swinging.
“You’re panicking,” Amber said. “Don’t panic. You don’t have to panic. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”
He stepped backwards, still shaking his head.
“Bigmouth,” she said, putting a little steel into her voice. “I am Lord Astaroth’s representative. If I tell you that everything is going to be fine, then everything is going to be fine. Do you understand me?”
He stopped retreating, and nodded, eyes wide and fearful. She regretted her tone instantly.
Amber reverted, and the heat of the place rushed in on her, almost making her gasp. Bigmouth blinked, surprised at the change.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said quietly, doing her best to ignore the sweat that was already trickling down the side of her face. “I’m not here to get you in trouble. I want to help my friend. I think I can do it. But I need your help.”
Bigmouth hesitated, then tapped his own chest.
Amber nodded. “If you help me, I’ll help you. You can come back with us. You can get away. I swear to you, Edgar, I won’t leave you here.”
Bigmouth looked around, like he was making sure Astaroth himself wasn’t standing behind him, then hurried closer.
“Is it possible?” she asked him. “Can I take a soul out of Hell?”
Bigmouth nodded quickly.
“How do I do it?”
Chalk scribbled frantically on his slate.
Cross river. Enter palace. Find soul.
“How do I cross the river?”
Need coin. I give you.
“Why do I need a coin? To pay for something? One of the boats?”
Pay boatman. He take you across.
“And how do I get into the palace?”
Bigmouth made a sound that could have been a tittering laugh.
Representative go where she likes.
“So I can walk in? I can just walk in and no one will try to stop me? Okay, that’s good. That’s good news. But how do I find my friend? What does a soul look like?”
Here, a soul is physical being. Physical beings are easier to torture. They have parts to cut off.
“So it looks like him? My friend’s soul will look like my friend?”
Bigmouth nodded.
“And then I just sneak him out?”
Sneak him back here. No coin for return journey. Sorry.
“Don’t worry,” said Amber. “I’ll improvise.”
Then take him home. Take me home, too? Promise?
“I promise,” she said.
Go back. Meet you there.
She barely had time to read it before he spun and hurried away, wiping the words off the slate as he moved.
Amber shifted again. She had to. The heat was unbearable otherwise. She headed back the way she’d come and waited in the chamber for Bigmouth to join her. The circle still burned, and would do so until she stepped into it once again.
Minutes later, she heard Bigmouth’s footsteps. He emerged from a corridor to her right, and waved her over to the central tapestry. He pulled it back, revealing a narrow gap in the stonework. He squeezed through, and beckoned her to follow. Amber ducked her head in first. It was a tight squeeze, but she managed it.
They were in a narrower corridor now, and Bigmouth shuffled ahead. They found a stone stairwell leading down. Bigmouth nearly went tumbling a few times, but Amber was there to keep him upright. His unsteadiness didn’t slow him, though. Down and down they went, around and around. They must have been in a tower of some sort, perhaps a tower nobody used anymore, one with a door at the bottom. Either that or Bigmouth had double-crossed her, and was leading her into the dungeons.
Amber glared at him, but could glean nothing from the back of his head.
Then they reached the bottom, and there was a door. It was big and old, and required all of Amber’s strength to open it. She stepped out into warm air. It was night here but it was always night. The sky above was tinged with red, the grass beneath was yellow, and the forest ahead was dark. The palace on the horizon was huge.
Bigmouth rapped his knuckles on the door, and she turned.
“You can’t leave the castle?” she asked.
He shook his head, and showed her a large silver coin. A flick of his thumb and it spun through the air, into her hand. She slipped it into her pocket.
“Is there a trail through the forest?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Anything in the forest I should avoid?”
He nodded.
She sighed. “Wonderful. Any advice you can give me?”
Bigmouth scribbled on his slate, and showed her.
Beware the water.
“Well, that’s creepy,” she said. “That’s very frikkin’ creepy. Thanks.”
He gave her the thumbs up.
Amber sighed.
“Be ready for when I get back,” she said. “I don’t want to wait around for you.”
Bigmouth nodded, and Amber took off.
The trees were dark, their branches sharp and probing. They snagged on her clothes and in her hair, but the forest was a lifeless thing. No creatures awaited her. No monsters sprang out at her. It was dark and quiet and that was all.
There was long grass on the other side that came up to her knees. This, too, was sharp, but her scales protected her from its scratches. She reached the pebbled shore, went to the nearest boat.
“Uh … hi.”
The boatman moved slightly. His hooded robes hid his head. Only his hands were visible. They were long and thin and covered in broken scabs.
“I, um, I was wondering if you could take me across?” she asked.
No response.
“I have business in the palace,” she said. “I am Lord Astaroth’s representative. It’s a very urgent matter. I must deliver a message to the Blood-dimmed King personally.”
No movement.
Amber frowned. “I can pay.”
The boatman raised his head,
and she could see what was under his cowl. The middle of his face was steadily being eaten away by maggots, and the flesh beneath was rotten and brown.
“Uh, I have this,” she said, and held out the silver coin.
He took it from her, held it up, and then brought it close. His tongue, a rotten slug of a thing, dragged itself across the surface of the coin until he was satisfied. Depositing the money in his robes, he took hold of the pole and moved aside. Amber climbed on board and he pushed off from the shore even as she was sitting. She almost fell out. The water was dark, and, as they left the shore behind them, it got darker. There were things in the water. They moved like fish but were not fish. Some of them were quite close to the surface. They had faces.
Amber stopped looking at the water and kept her eyes on the palace. It was getting bigger, and not merely because she was drawing closer. It was growing, accommodating her perception of what qualified as “big” and then expanding beyond it.
The boat rocked suddenly, and she thought they were about to capsize before she saw that they had reached the other shore.
“Thank you,” she said, clambering out. “Will you be here for the return journey? I don’t have another coin but—”
He pushed the boat away, and left her there.
She found steps leading up. Many of them. Even in her demon form, her muscles were singing by the time she got to the top. She joined a trickle of people heading into the palace. One of them was a demon, like Gregory Buxton except smaller. He ignored her. She ignored him.
A man and a woman stood guard at either side of the gate, their heads down. Their bodies were masterworks of pain, bloodless gashes intersecting at vicious angles. Only their faces, so peaceful in sleep, were untouched.
Amber walked between them, certain that they were going to look up and grab her.
She got through, and allowed herself to breathe again as she entered the palace of the Blood-dimmed King.
THE SCREAMING WAS LOUDER here, but so was the laughter, and none of it seemed to come from any one particular place. Rather, it drifted around, like it was caught on the warm, stifling breeze.
