Hellequin Chronicles 4: Prison of Hope

by Steve McHugh

  I explained about the school visit and how there had been a few issues with one of the witches at the hotel.

  “Witches,” she said with a slight snarl. “I never understood them. Humans playing at being sorcerers, and angry because it doesn’t work out how they want.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard witches described in that way. Even those who used to be human often saw them as humans with delusions of grandeur. “Well, apparently, this particular witch holds quite the grudge. Besides, not all of them are bad, Petra.”

  Petra snorted in disdain. “When I worked for Hades, I had the pleasure of dealing with Demeter and her damn witches on a regular basis. Their insanity gave me a bad impression of the whole lot of them.”

  “Demeter has that effect on people,” I said and finished off my burger while Petra laughed.

  “So, since you’ve been back . . .”—Petra rubbed her hands over one another—“have you . . . you know, . . . have you seen her?”

  “Her?” I asked.

  “Don’t be an ass; you know exactly whom I mean.”

  “No, I haven’t seen Selene.”

  “I heard that when everyone thought you were dead, she was inconsolable.”

  “Bet that pleased her husband,” I said with slightly more anger in my voice than I’d intended. “You know—the man she left me for.”

  “She still loves—”

  I raised a hand to stop her there. Selene and I had been together for nearly thirty years, until the late 1920s, when she’d left me for another man. Despite many people at the time—Petra included—trying to explain to me that it wasn’t as black and white as I made it out to be, I didn’t care. Didn’t care then, and still don’t. She left me; end of story.

  “Whenever Selene’s husband or another of Hera’s cronies visits Tartarus, she always comes here. She’s always alone, and she always asks about you. Always, Nathan.”

  I shrugged. “She’s made her bed; she can fuck her husband in it.”

  Petra’s eyes narrowed. “If I thought you meant that, I’d slap you so damn hard.”

  “Whatever was once between Selene and me is dead and buried. It’s best that people leave it that way. She married someone else.” Petra opened her mouth, and I kept talking to stop her from interrupting. “I don’t care what the reasons were; I don’t care if she still harbors some unrequited love for me. If love were that goddamn important to her, she’d have stayed with me in the first place. So fuck Selene, fuck her husband, and fuck the idea of me seeking some kind of solace in the hope that she and I will get back together.”

  Petra slapped me.

  It wasn’t hard—more of a tap than anything. A true slap from a werewolf would have knocked me aside by a few feet, but it was loud enough that several of the other patrons stopped eating or talking, to glance my way.

  Petra stood up, fire in her eyes. “You can be a cold, arrogant man, Nathan Garrett. Maybe you’re not the only one who was a victim of what happened between you.”

  I glanced up at my old friend. “She’s not a victim; she walked out on me and married someone else. All because her dad asked her to.” My words were barely above a whisper. “I showed her how much she meant to me every single day. At least I did before she decided to run off with the jumped-up little prick who she currently calls her husband.”

  Petra’s argument faltered with a sigh. “It’s not that simple. She had no choice. Hyperion needed her help.”

  I sat back in the booth and took a deep breath. “Everyone has a choice. She just made a bad one. And I’m not sure why Hyperion needing her help equates to her marrying someone else. If you know more, Petra, maybe you should tell me.”

  Petra shook her head and walked off, and I went back to finishing my chips and bread. We’d had the same conversation since Selene and I had ended our relationship, and usually it wound up with either Kurt interjecting himself to calm things down or with Petra punching me. Clearly, after almost a century of being apart, it was finally starting to sink in with Petra that Selene and I would never be together again.

  I wondered why Petra had such a hard time of letting it go. I’d heard the stories about how Selene’s husband whored around and that the two of them barely spent any time in one another’s company. And I knew that Petra and Selene had always been close, but I didn’t care. She was miserable with a man I knew she didn’t love, but she had married him anyway. I’d heard the excuses about not having a choice, and that Selene had to marry him for this reason or that, but none of them ever changed my mind.

  I polished off the food and drink, taking my time as people came and went around me. Several beers later, and after adding a lovely warm chocolate brownie with a chocolate fudge sauce and fresh cream to my bill, Petra still hadn’t come back to yell at me some more. I was almost finished with the brownie when a pretty, young woman sat down opposite me.

  “Hello, sorcerer,” she said. She had a South London accent, although it wasn’t very pronounced.

  “And you are?” I asked, looking up from my brownie and licking the remains from my spoon.

  “Sarah Hamilton.” Sarah was, from what I saw in a glance before she sat down, a few inches taller than me. She was thin, with pronounced cheekbones, long elegant fingers, and perfectly manicured nails, painted blue. She wore no jewelry on her hands or wrists, but two diamond studs sat in each ear. Her long, light-brown hair was swept back in a ponytail, which had fallen over one shoulder. She wore a black jacket, under which was a scruffy, light-blue, zipped hoodie that was at odds with the nails and earrings, as if she were trying to blend in with the casual appearance of everyone else I’d seen in town, but couldn’t be without at least a few of her finer things.

  “And how can I help you, Sarah?” I asked.

  “Telling me your name would be nice.”

  “Nate,” I said. There was no point in lying. Despite various sources throughout history saying otherwise, no one can do magic on you just because they know your name. If they could, a big portion of the world’s inhabitants would be up to their neck in curses.

  Sarah smiled. “Excellent. Well, Nate, I’m here to offer you a chance to leave this town before your presence means I have to deal with you on a much harsher basis.”

  I quickly glanced around the restaurant, not wanting to take my attention away from Sarah too much, but there was no one around I’d have considered a threat.

  “Nothing will happen in this restaurant,” she said.

  I reset my gaze on Sarah. “Does this have anything to do with Mara and those witches? Are you another one of the coven?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I am a witch—that much is true—but not part of Mara’s coven. Mara is, quite frankly, an idiot.”

  Sarah produced a palm-sized, round rock from her pocket, placing it between us. It was smooth all over, and it looked a little like someone had drawn a compass on it, but instead of the usual “N,” “S,” etc., there were small runes. Three of the runes were black, while the one pointing toward me was white.

  “Do you know what this is?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I haven’t seen one for a while.” The small item was a witch finder and was used to track people who can wield magic. There weren’t many witches who still made them; there was a time when people used them to actively track and kill witches, and no one wanted that period of history back. However, a simple change of the runes meant that it could be used to track a sorcerer instead, although it was a change that was rarely used. Very few people want to actively track a sorcerer.

  “I was told to find a sorcerer by the name of Nate and offer him a way out. You are a sorcerer. Don’t bother to deny it. You’re the only one in town, from what I can tell.”

  “You made this yourself, I assume. That’s a good chunk of magic.”

  As with most witch magic, her own energy would have been used to power the device. As if on cue, Sarah raised her sleeves, showing me the three runes tattooed on each wrist.

  “That’s
quite a bit of power you’ve given yourself,” I said. “You’re playing a dangerous game. I wonder how much of your life you ebbed away just making that.” I pushed the witch finder back toward Sarah.

  “The amount of power I can access is hardly your concern.”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t about to dissuade Sarah from the course of action she clearly wanted to take.

  “So, why do you want me to leave this town?”

  “Also not your concern,” she said dismissively. “All you need to know is that you have twelve hours to pack and leave. Don’t come back.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed. “The problem is that I’m not really one to be run out of town without knowing who’s doing the running and why.”

  “If you stay, you’ll find out. I was told to offer you one chance. It’s been offered. If you ignore it, then what happens is of your own making.”

  I leaned back against the leather seat and crossed my arms. “And what will happen?”

  Sarah stood up from the table and placed fifty euros on it. “The meal is on me. As for your question, I’m afraid you won’t get the chance to learn that. Just know, if you stay, your death will be for a good cause. I hope that helps.”

  “Not really.” I pushed the plate aside. Any appetite I’d had when Sarah first sat down had evaporated like the heat from the brownie.

  “I think the person who sent me here would rather you didn’t die, Nate. I have no interest in your ability to breathe one way or another.”

  I looked at her for a heartbeat. “You should know something too. If you come after me, or anyone I care about, I’m going to tear you and whoever you have with you into tiny, wet chunks of smeared meat. I’ll end you and your friends, and then I’ll go after whoever it is you’re working for, and I’ll end them too. You have no idea who I am, Sarah. But if you push me, you’re going to find out.”

  She leaned near me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll look forward to it,” she whispered with a smile before turning to walk away.

  “You shouldn’t,” I told her. “It won’t be something you’ll enjoy.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I sat in the restaurant for another twenty minutes, allowing the information Sarah had imparted to ferment in my mind. I had no idea what her plans were or why she would have given me a warning to stay away, but clearly someone expected me to interrupt those plans if I remained. I liked interrupting plans of people who threatened me. I was good at it.

  Petra reappeared as the customers in the restaurant began to thin out. “You plan on ordering something else?”

  I glanced up at her. “You still mad at me?”

  Petra’s shoulders sagged, and she shook her head before taking a seat opposite. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

  “Don’t worry about it; at least you didn’t punch me.”

  A smile crept onto her lips, but vanished just as quickly a moment later. “What’s wrong?”

  I reiterated my chat with Sarah Hamilton.

  “So, what’s your plan?” she asked after several moments of silence, once I’d finished talking.

  “I’m going to stay around and see what happens. I’m off to see Hades tomorrow with the school, and unless she happens to have an army, I doubt very much that his compound is any sort of target.”

  “But it is possible.”

  I nodded. “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m going. Although anyone attacking Hades or his family will clearly have some sort of death wish.”

  My original waitress came over and nodded slightly to me before whispering something to Petra.

  “You’re sure?” Petra asked, and the waitress nodded.

  “What’s going on?” I inquired.

  “Apparently your witch friend is outside in the car park, along with several men.”

  “Well she’s either engaged in a very alternative lifestyle, or maybe she didn’t believe I was taking her threat seriously.”

  “I’d go with the second one. Which only leaves the question of did you take her seriously?”

  “I always take threats seriously. But I’ve been threatened by more dangerous people than a witch with delusions of grandeur.”

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  “I’m going to go see what she wants.”

  The waitress walked away after picking up the fifty euros, taking the empty plates with her.

  “My waitress told me the name of one of the men waiting out there.” Petra said when we were alone. “Name’s Robert Ellis.”

  “He from around here?”

  Petra shook her head. “He’s Australian, I think. He arrived a few months ago just before Christmas. Just after a krampus that people had spotted in the area.”

  That got my attention. “A krampus? You’re sure?”

  Petra nodded. “I saw it walking down the road, swinging its chains around. Those fucking horrific bell things were making noise. You can’t really mistake a krampus for anything else.”

  In mythology, a krampus was a sort of anti-Santa. It would spirit away the naughty boys and girls to its lair. What it did with them is open to interpretation; some say it drowned the children and ate them, while some suggested it just kept them until they behaved and then brought them back. In most instances the truth is quite far removed from reality, but in the case of the krampus, truth and reality weren’t all that dissimilar.

  Krampus don’t care one way or the other about the behavior of the children they steal. They take children back to their lairs and feast on their souls, tossing the corpse of the child into a nearby stream or river when they finish. Unlike animals that need to hibernate during the winter, krampus only feed during the coldest months of the year, before vanishing once spring arrives. Before the tenth century, there were hundreds of the bastards running around, although nearly all of them were killed after it was made illegal to create them.

  Like most of the truly horrific creations in the world, krampus were made using dark blood magic. At one point, they’d been human, although once the magic had finished with them, any glimmer of humanity had been extinguished. They were considered a crime against magic, and their creation was punishable by death. Apparently, someone was unconcerned about the possibility of such things, if he or she had taken the time and effort to make a krampus and unleash it on the town of Mittenwald.

  “How many did it take?” I asked, not really sure I wanted the answer.

  “None,” Petra said.

  The shocked expression on my face said more than any words could have.

  “I know,” she continued. “We saw it, or heard it, for two nights, but no one was taken. Most of the permanent residents in town, human or otherwise, are aware of the world they really live in, so after that first night they took precautions.”

  “So how did this Robert guy come to hunt the krampus?”

  “After the second night, we had a town meeting. They wanted to get Hades to come help before something bad happened.”

  “And?”

  “He arrived at the meeting and went full-Brody on us all.”

  “What?”

  “ ‘I’ll catch him for three and kill him for ten,’ ” she said in a gruff voice. “You know, Brody from Jaws.”

  “I’m aware of the film, yes,” I informed her. “He told you he’d find and kill the krampus for money?”

  “Basically, except Robert didn’t want payment as such. He said all he wanted was free accommodation and food while he stayed in town.”

  “Is he human?”

  Petra nodded. “He didn’t show any signs of being anything else. He had a rifle with him. Kurt told me it was a military one.”

  “You know what type?”

  Petra shook her head. “I’ve never been concerned with human weapons. Not unless they’re pointed at me, anyway.”

  “I don’t understand why, in a town full of people who aren’t human, you let one track something as dangerous as a krampus. Killing one is hard enough work for anything, but a human
should have been torn to pieces the second he got close.”

  “Robert arrived at that town meeting, where we were about to put forward a motion to get Hades’s help, and explained that inviting Hades to come assist us might set a precedent that meant we’d be running to him every time we had something big to deal with. He said that we should at least try to kill the krampus ourselves. He was so damn confident that everyone there agreed with him. It was the strangest thing. Thinking about it, we should have laughed him out the building. I know that no were wants to go tracking a krampus—not with those damn silver chains it has—but sending a human out there was insane.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Robert took some people who’d arrived with him. They tracked it up to the mountains, and according to them, Robert shot it and it fell down a ravine.”

  “Any proof?” I asked, not really believing that a krampus would die so easily.

  “A bell. The bullet shot one of them right off the monster. It has a bullet hole in it. I’ve seen it myself.”

  We sat quietly for a few minutes as the information I’d just been given swirled around my head.

  “What are you thinking?” Petra finally asked.

  “That something very weird is happening in this town. Sarah said there are no sorcerers in town. Is that true?”

  Petra nodded. “We occasionally get the odd one or two passing through, but none live in town. Why?”

  “Krampus are normally a witch’s creation, and having a witch turn up to threaten me while she hangs around with the man who’s supposed to have killed a krampus doesn’t sit well.”

  “If they’re setting us up for a con, it’s an incredibly long-drawn-out one. I’ve never seen that woman before, and Robert’s entire bill is setting the town back a few grand at most. They put him in a house near the north end of town. He buys groceries once a week, and that’s the extent of his monetary gain.”

  “He’s here for a reason. Otherwise, why not leave once the krampus was killed?”

  Petra shrugged. “You know, I’ve never thought about it.”

  “Like I said, weird.” I stood up and put another fifty euros on the table. I wasn’t about to have someone who threatened me pay for my meal.