Hell Bent

by Devon Monk

  I was surprised she’d brought up Cody, not that she was wrong. He and I had run together, gotten into a lot of trouble when we were younger, before he’d had his brain broken by the last set of Soul Complements who’d wanted to take over the world. He’d ultimately been the one who had held magic together long enough for it to join. He was the one who had healed it. And, yes, he was my friend.

  “You care about the missing people who have been showing up dead in Forest Park,” she said.

  At my raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “Just because I’m not working for the government doesn’t mean I don’t know how to gather information. You are a target, you know.”

  “Yeah, sure. Plenty of people want me dead.”

  “People, yes. But so does the Black Crane Syndicate.”

  It was my turn to drink beer and look out the window for a bit. “What do they want me dead for?”

  “They want Terric Conley. They know you’re the only person standing in the way of them owning him.”

  “Owning?”

  “I don’t have the details, but they are grooming him for something that involves magic and their drug trade. There’s a man who is part of the power in the organization. Jeremy Wilson. He’s promised he can deliver a new mix of magic and drugs. He’s promised product that will send half the world begging at their feet.”

  I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t hear over the hard anger that scorched hot and unreasonable across my brain. Dash was right. Jeremy was using Terric. For more than just a clean bill of health.

  “And what?” I said, like I was exhaling a hard stream of smoke. “Do you want me to pay you for this information?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just doing . . . something I think my brother would approve of. I might not be positive that the Authority has always done the right thing, but I know some things about the Black Crane. Drugs, magic, human trafficking, blackmail, backdoor deals. I know what they are. And if they’re coming for you, for people who my brother believed in, then I want you to have a fighting chance against them.”

  “This means something to me,” I said. “You telling me this—if it’s true.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I don’t leave a debt unpaid.”

  “Reconsider telling me who killed my brother.”

  “No.”

  She held still, didn’t even breathe, her hands clasped together in front of her on the table. “It was worth a shot, right?”

  “I would have done the same,” I agreed.

  “All right.” She tipped back her beer and set the glass on the table. “How about you buy me a beer, and we’ll call it even?”

  “That easy?”

  “I still want information,” she said. “But I don’t have to get it from you. Tonight.”

  So I bought her a beer.

  She might be a player, willing to bribe or bludgeon her way to what she wanted, but she was sincere about this, about giving me information because she thought it was the right thing to do, even if I didn’t give her what she wanted in return.

  Looked like I’d misjudged her too.

  Somehow day burned down to evening. We finally moved away from our table and back toward the lounge and bar. We spent a couple hours listening to live music, drinking, and talking over other things—not the Authority, crime syndicates, or dead loved ones. Just movies, politics, and embarrassing high school memories.

  Everything felt normal with her, easy with her. Like this was a life I could live. Wasn’t that a surprise?

  When the band turned to reggae music, we both groaned.

  “Don’t like reggae?” I asked.

  “I do not,” she laughed. “It’s getting late. I should be heading home.”

  I threw some money on the table to settle our bill, then walked with her out of the place. The cold night air stole away the remaining warmth of the club as we lingered outside the door on the sidewalk.

  “Do you need a ride?” she asked.

  “So you were spying on me before you walked in. I wondered.”

  She paused, her hand in her purse, and grinned up at me. The color was a little high across her cheeks, and the whiskey gingers she’d been drinking put a soft glitter in her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Now, now, darlin’,” I said. “Let’s not ruin a good night with bad lies.”

  “So good lies are okay?”

  “Sometimes those can be the best.”

  “Are you sure about the ride?” she asked. “It isn’t out of my way.”

  “I think I’ll find my own way home tonight.”

  “All right,” she said. “Good.” She took a step to the corner, then turned back toward me. “This was nice, Shame. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

  “Maybe we can,” I said. “But we probably shouldn’t.”

  “Well, then,” she said. “I guess this is good-bye. Good-bye, Shamus Flynn.”

  “Good-bye, Dessa Leeds.”

  She gave me one more smile, then crossed the street and strode down the alleyway opposite before I could change my mind.

  I started walking and did not look back. Waved down a cab three or four blocks later, and closed my eyes, trying not to think of Dessa, or what might have been between us.

  It wasn’t long before the cab pulled up to the inn.

  The inn was winding down for the night, the cleaning staff turning down lights and setting the locks. I crossed through the dining area and down the hall, then up the stairs toward my room. Halfway up the stairs, I heard the front door open and shut.

  I wondered who was returning to the inn so late.

  By the time I reached my room, I heard footsteps thunking up the stairs behind me.

  Just because I am a curious bastard, I took my time unlocking my door, waiting to see who had arrived behind me.

  The footsteps paused. Something scratched and skittered.

  An animal?

  I glanced over at the stairs.

  Dessa slipped up the last few steps, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, large purse over the other, and a square, cloth-covered wire cage in one hand. She stopped. Waited for me to say something.

  “Miss me already?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, you appear to be stalking me.”

  “No,” she said, “I’m renting a room.”

  “Next to mine.”

  “Is it?” she asked with an air of innocence that fooled no one. “They said it was the only room that was open.”

  “Really.”

  “You aren’t worried about me being here, are you, Shame? Afraid of a little girl next door?”

  I smiled, leaned against the hall, and pointed at the cage she was carrying. “What’s in the cage?”

  “It’s not a cage, it’s a hatbox.

  “With a cloth over it.”

  “I have shy hats.”

  “Come on, now. Let’s have a see.”

  She shook her head. “My curtains don’t rise just because some man expects them to. Ruins the mystery.”

  The hatbox scratched and skittered again.

  “Bird? Gerbil? Lizard? Am I close?”

  “Fedora, cloche, baseball. Hats.” She walked down to the door on the left, flicked her keys forward into her fingers. She unlocked the door and leaned into the room.

  This was an old inn and the doors were narrow. She had to slide in sideways, which meant the cloth over the cage lifted and I saw a tiny, furry black-and-white face, with close-set ears.

  A ferret. She was smuggling a ferret into the inn.

  “There’s a no-pet rule, you know,” I said.

  “Oh?” she asked, unconcerned.

  “Yes. So make sure your hats don’t go for a stroll in the middle of the night.”

  She was in the room now, and had placed the cage on the floor. “I assure you, my hats are very well behaved.” She shut the door, and I heard the slide and click of the locks setting.

&
nbsp; Ferrets. I shook my head. Not what I’d expect out of an ex-government spy. But then, Dessa was proving to be a lot more than just a woman on a mission of revenge.

  I smiled, stepped into my room, and closed the door behind me.

  Chapter 14

  You know those soft, lazy kinds of mornings where you wake up, realize you are in a comfortable bed, buried beneath your favorite blanket, warm, relaxed, and don’t have a worry in the world?

  This was not like that.

  A spear of ice slid into my chest, shocking me awake faster than a lightning bolt. I opened my eyes.

  It was dark. Eleanor was sitting on my hips. Her eyes wide, panicked. Her hands had disappeared up to her wrists in my chest.

  Jesus. I mean, I’d always assumed she’d try to kill me someday, but two things: it wasn’t working, and it hurt.

  “What?” I yelped. She was really agitated, and therefore, much more solid. I could feel the weight of her across my hips, like a vise of winter.

  She shook her head and hurriedly twisted. I grunted as she pulled one, then the other hand out of my rib cage. She pointed over her shoulder. Toward the door.

  No, not toward the door. Toward the man who stood there.

  About six foot, built a little on the slim side, wearing dark slacks and a button-down shirt that was undone at the cuffs and away from his neck. His dusty brown hair stuck up, like he hadn’t brushed it in a day or two, and his round wire-rimmed glasses caught the faint moonlight seeping in through the window.

  It’d been a while since I’d seen him. About three years. Back before magic had been healed. Back before we knew if we were going to survive the apocalypse. He’d looked like a slightly crazy mad scientist magic user back then.

  Hadn’t changed much.

  “Eli Collins,” I said as I sat and put both my feet on the floor. “Really nice of you to stop by, my friend. I’ve been looking for you.”

  He hesitated there in the shadow for a moment, like a fly on the edge of a spider’s web.

  I waited, listening to his heartbeat. Elevated, but not fear. More like anticipation.

  “Shamus.” He took a step into the room. Moonlight slipped across him like an airport scanner. “You’re alone?”

  What did he expect, that I’d have Terric stashed in my closet? “Sure,” I said. “I’m alone.”

  “Good,” he said. “Very good.”

  He lifted his hand and in it was a gun.

  Eleanor flew at him, flew through him. I raised my hand, the rings across my fist crackling with red light.

  But I was too slow.

  Bullets are faster than magic.

  So are tranq guns.

  The gun in his hand popped. The dart hit me right in the chest.

  The sun exploded there and wrapped me in fire. I clenched my teeth and moaned against the pain.

  Holy fuck, that hurt.

  The drug and magic crawled through my veins, knotted my muscles, and locked me down hard.

  I couldn’t even blink.

  Even the monster inside me was still. Knocked out cold.

  This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

  Collins tipped his wrist, checked his watch, then looked back at me and pressed a button that beeped. Counting down the minutes?

  “I don’t have any time to waste,” he said as he walked over to me. “No time for you to argue, or try to kill me. They’ll pull me back into my cell in two minutes. Two minutes of freedom.” He spread his arms and smiled.

  He glanced around, found a chair, set it close enough I could see his eyes and the wildness within them, even in the dark. Then leaned forward, his arms across his knees.

  “Did you get my message, Shame? Did you see it? On Joshua? My handiwork? Did Davy see it? I hope that he did. I couldn’t have made it more obvious.”

  I moved my tongue, opened my mouth. “Fuck. You.” Huh. Well, at least I could talk, though magic, and any other movement, was out of the question.

  “So you saw him? What I did to him? How I killed him? Good.” He checked his watch again. He was amped up, distracted. Not exactly what I liked to see in a psychopath.

  “I am not on your side, on the side of the Authority,” he clarified. “I do not care what the tattered remains of that powerless organization does. Nor am I on the side of the forces that are rising against the Authority. I am a prisoner.” Here he paused, and swallowed as if just saying that word would bring the bars of his cage slamming shut around him.

  “Prisoner,” he repeated. “They have me locked down, except when they let me go for two minutes. Such a short time to do my work. To make my mark. To kill the way I like killing. You see the problem before you: you know they are looking for Breakers. Soul Complements,” he said a little softer, as if those words meant something to him now.

  Then, “They want the weapon, Shame. They want you. They want the magic only you can tap. No matter that there are ways, other ways to tap magic. Things you haven’t seen. Things I have shown them are possible.”

  He waved his hand as if he’d argued this before.

  “Costly. But effective. Ways I have shown them they can tap in to the power of magic.” He seemed to catch himself. “Not that I will tell you. Even that—magic—is not the real problem. Do you know what the real problem is?” he asked.

  “Just say it, freak,” I managed. Talking hurt. My head was pounding spikes of pain through my brain with each hard heartbeat.

  “The problem is a woman. You have met her. Dessa Leeds. She knows. Knows where I am. Knows what my chains are made of. They have her, Shame.”

  “Dessa?” He used to make sense. But now . . . maybe the madness had finally taken its toll.

  “No, not Dessa. My soul. They have my soul.” He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Sniffed hard, then wiped under each eye before replacing his glasses. “You have to save her. You’re the only thing they can’t fight, Shame. Death. And you crave it, don’t you? You like killing just as much as I do. Find me and my prison. Save my soul. I’ve tried. Tried everything. You.” Here he shook his head. “You’re all I have left. If you stop them, all this will be over.”

  “And if I don’t?” I asked.

  “Then people will die. People you care about. Oh, don’t look so surprised. It isn’t personal. I am doing what I must to survive, though I will enjoy it.”

  He smiled. “I have orders to kill the people standing in their way. You’re standing in their way, Shame. You and . . . others I would love to see dead. And if you don’t find her, I will do more than just kill your friends. I will destroy everything you’ve ever touched. Everyone you’ve ever touched. It won’t matter that you carry Death magic. I’m the one with my finger on the trigger of the gun. And I will make your every breath a study in pain and misery.”

  He glanced at his watch again. “You don’t have much time. Maybe a day. Maybe less. And you’ll have to be sharp, Shame. You will have to be much, much better than this . . . pitiful wreck you’ve become if you are going to save her. To stop me.”

  His watch beeped once and he jumped just slightly. “Out of time. And so are you.” He tugged a needle out of his shirt pocket, bit the plastic cover off it, then leaned forward and stabbed me in the neck.

  Oh, I was so going to kill the slimy little fucker for this.

  “This is just the start of what they have to control magic users. To control people changed by magic. Enjoy the ride.”

  Maybe I’d convince Terric to bring him back to life so I could kill him twice.

  The room swirled like water down a toilet bowl. I watched Eli. Watched something that looked like a hole in space—a gate—open up behind him with a hard snap of electricity. Watched as he stood and was yanked backward by men in lab coats and face masks I could not see through.

  Then the gate was gone. Eli was gone. And so was my mind.

  Chapter 15

  Flashes of images: the parking lot in darkness. Trees. Underbrush rustling with animals that fell deathly sti
ll as I passed.

  Flashes of sensation: gravel cutting my feet, wind on my bare chest and back, blood on my fingers, my lips.

  Flashes of sounds: forest, the river, cars. Eventually, my own breathing. Too loud. And then: voices.

  First too many voices. A bar, a club, laughter, anger, lust. The rhythmic pound of music. Heat I could consume. Life I wanted and could have. If I stepped over the threshold.

  Then only one life, sweet and burning in front of me: Dessa.

  “Shame,” she said through my pain, around the finger-painted slide of colors and agony that made up the world. “You can’t go in there. You’re safe. Safe with me.”

  The world pushed past me. Life roaring by like a thundering wave. Maybe she was still there. I didn’t know.

  A scream of colors slashed me to the bone. Then everything went black.

  “Don’t move.”

  Was that Dessa? It sounded like her. I could smell her perfume, a burst of vanilla and sweet spices. Could feel her strong, beating heart. A singular, pure note.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she said.

  Felt the soft release of her hand lifted from my hip. The hushed chirp of a cell phone dialing. Footsteps retreated. And then the engine of a car rolled to life.

  I was alone. Alone with my pain.

  “Hey, Shame.”

  Darkness parted. Light poured over me. Terric’s voice. Terric’s light.

  I wanted to tell him I thought I might be really screwed up this time. That he should get far, far away from me. I wanted to tell him there was a reason for the state I was in. That someone, someone whose name I could not remember, had done something to me. But my thoughts dissolved as I tried to stack them into order and form.

  This was not good.

  Fear slipped between each breath I struggled to take. Fear that if I was losing my mind, the monster in me would devour every living thing. Even him.

  “I got you now,” Terric’s words said, falling like soft snow around me. “You’re going to be all right.”

  His hands touched me—one on my arm, one on my chest. I shuddered as that light pushed away the darkness and pain, holding the worst of it away.