by Amanda Jones
“So, we need to stash this guy somewhere. I’m not letting you take him home to play nursemaid and have you getting killed in the process.”
Mara turned and smiled tiredly at Alex. “Got any bright ideas, Oh Wise One?”
With a cocky smile Alex put the car in gear and backed out of his spot. “Just one, but you’re not gonna like it.”
Chapter Seven
Mara
“You’re such an asshat.”
Alex chuckled as he parked his SUV near a dimly lit door in a dingy alley across town from the hospital. “I knew you wouldn’t like it.” He popped open his door and shot Mara a rueful glance. “Suck it up, Buttercup. Time to put on your big girl panties.”
“You suck.” Mara slid out of the passenger seat rolling her eyes to the heavens. This had to be the last place in the human realm she wanted to find herself holed up.
“Yes, my dear, I do suck…and so do you.” Alex replied as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.
Mara punched him in the arm. “Regular Johnny Carson you are with the bloodsucker jokes, Sir. Let’s just get this over with.”
Alex popped open the trunk and eyed the cargo. “You go talk to the owner. I’ll keep an eye on the stiff.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Mara held out her hand. “Pocketknife?”
Alex fished around in his pocket, pulled out his Swiss Army and slapped it down into her palm. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
“Bite me.” Mara said as she walked toward the rusted door to the sound of Alex’s laughter.
Drawing out the pocketknife, Mara made a deep slice in her palm. The blood flowed out ruby red, just enough for her to complete the ritual. As the cut sealed itself shut, Mara dipped her index finger into the pool of liquid. Reaching out, she drew the demonic symbol of the incubi on the door. The blood bubbled and hissed, steam rising from the surface of the metal. A glow began to emanate from the design, orange and gold like a fire, licking at the blood to escape its confines. The peephole slid open and a pair of jet black eyes stared out at her. With no whites, looking into that obsidian stare was like looking into an abyss. Mara shuddered. She had been a part of this underworld for centuries, but there were just some species of demon that would always give her the creeps. She closed her eyes briefly, drawing on the demon within herself. When she re-opened them, they glowed blood red.
The peephole slid closed with a snap and the heavy door opened with the creak of rusty hinges. It seemed as though WD-40 still wasn’t on anybody’s shopping list. Though, knowing the owner, he probably thought the creaking and groaning added to the Halloween-chic ambiance.
“Welcome back to Brimstone, Mara.” The seven-foot-tall demon grated out as he waved her into the long hallway with his pale, skeletal arm.
The hallway was long and narrow adorned in peeling green paint that showed layers of yellowing, patterned wallpaper beneath. The overhead fluorescent lighting pulsed to the muted beat of music. The music became more and more hypnotic as Mara moved down the hall towards the final door with its dark, pulsing beat. It had been more than a year since she’d visited Brimstone, but the slow and steady pull of the magic surrounding her felt like a warm, familiar embrace. The door was Wolframite, charmed and forged in the depths of Sheol. It glinted in the flickering light in its unbreakable beauty. Just like the owner of this establishment, it was unaffected by the passage of time, and impossible to break through. Mara reached out and placed her hand on the cool surface. As though recognizing a fellow denizen of Sheol, the door swung open slowly allowing the pounding of the music and the scent of strawberries and cream to waft into the hallway and surround her. That was the beauty of this place — it was designed to draw in each visitor, the magic giving everyone exactly what they needed to sense.
Mara entered the packed nightclub. The enormous interior was all a modern design with chrome and clean lines. The strobe lights flickered off of every shiny surface and got lost in the fog rolling off the smoke machine set up near the stage. Demons and their human consorts writhed to the music; the curtained couches along the walls were all occupied. Some demons were feeding while others were taking advantage of the multitude of voyeurs to act out their fantasies with their human companions. Blood and sweat mixed as they reached for heights of ecstasy that could only be achieved in the confines of Brimstone. The proprietor of the establishment catered to the whims of all of his guests — be they chemical, sensual, kinky, or straight-up depraved.
Mara felt a shift in the frenetic energy of the room as the crowd began to part like the Red Sea, and there he was. She felt herself moving towards him, drawn by an invisible tether. She caught his scent as it flowed around her, his essence seeping into her consciousness. Mara knew what was happening but felt helpless to stop the melting feeling that overtook her.
He was right in front of her now, so familiar yet so distant. The same tailored black suit and crisp white shirt, his dark brown hair short and brushed back, his olive skin, and those brown eyes that swirled with strands of silver as he released his power on her. If there was a God in this place, it was him.
He reached out and drew her in close, whispering in her ear. “Hello, love.”
Mara gasped for air, drowning in his scent and his voice. “Stop it.”
“Now why would I do that…” He ran one finger down her cheek. “…when you used to like it so much?”
Mustering what little self-control she had left, Mara moved her head back and stared him right in his hypnotic eyes. “Cut it out, Rodney.”
The silver in his eyes and his magnetic scent withdrew from her as Rodney banked his powers. He shrugged and gave her an irreverent wink. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Free from his spell, Mara rolled her eyes. “Incubi! You’re all the same.”
Rodney clapped a hand over his heart. “Ouch, that hurts. Be nice!”
Mara chewed her bottom lip a moment while she sorted out her tumbling thoughts. Finally, she looked back up at him. “Sorry,” she said humbly. “It looks like you’re still doing well.” She motioned around the crowded club. “Business is good?”
Rodney gave her a crooked smile. “Good enough. You can never be too rich, right?” He took her arm and steered her over to a more private corner. The patrons were all eyeing him with a mix of lust and awe. “So, what brings you to my den of iniquity after all this time?”
Her hands twisted together, an outward manifestation of the way her gut was churning. Rodney reached out and took her hands, stopping the nervous tick. “Mara, whatever it is you can tell me.”
With a deep breath she let it all out. “I’m assuming you’re up to date on the happenings of the past few weeks?”
Rodney chuckled and shook his head. “If you mean the revolt of the fallen, then yes. Those boys certainly made a statement. I don’t think anybody in the Netherworld saw that one coming.”
“Yeah, well, I seem to have gotten myself wrapped up in the middle of it all.” Mara looked up at Rodney with a pained half-smile.
Rodney stared at her in silence for a moment then broke out into a full body laugh that drew attention from the surrounding crowd. Mara brought her hand up to her face and shook her head in embarrassment. “Cut it out, Rodney. People are staring.”
Swiping at the tears of laughter that were leaking out the corners of his eyes, Rodney reached out and grabbed Mara in for a quick hug. “Oh, Mara, why am I not surprised that you’ve gotten yourself in the middle of a shit storm? You’re like a magnet for trouble. That includes your relationship with me.”
“Well, you know me.” Mara said with a shrug. “Always wanting to hang out with the bad boys.”
Taking her arm, Rodney led Mara over to a nearby loveseat and pulled her down, sitting beside her.
“I may be a bad boy — that’s built into my nature. Sex demons aren’t exactly the best relationship choices. But if there was ever anyone I wanted to make things work with, it was you, Mara. I just thought you should know.”
Mara gave
him a small, sad smile. “You broke my heart, you know.”
“I never wanted to hurt you, Mara.” Rodney gave Mara one of his few serious looks.
“I walked in on you doing half the demon-rugby cheerleading team, Rodney. What did you think would happen?”
“I was kinda hoping you’d join in.” He gave her a cheeky half-smile.
Mara rolled her eyes. “Well, we can’t change the past. But maybe you can help me hide someone for a while as he recovers from some pretty serious injuries.”
Rodney gave her a slow nod. “Payback’s a bitch.” He patted her on the arm. “Sure, I think I can take care of your new boy toy.”
“He’s not my… Oh, never mind.” Mara shrugged in defeat. “Do you have some place around here where he can stay without getting turned in to Satan or any of his crew by one of your patrons?”
“I think I have just the place.” Rodney took her hand and got up, leading Mara through the crowded club.
The patrons parted in front of them. Club-goers reached out to touch Rodney as he passed, wanting to be near him and the intoxicating sexual energy he threw off. Incubi were almost impossible to resist. Their scent and energy drew everyone in the vicinity, no matter their orientation. They were quite simply an exceptionally well-designed predator. Rodney was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and the wolf would most definitely eat you alive. As though to prove a point, he reached out and ran the back of his hand down the cheek of a lovely, young human patron. She shivered and convulsed as he touched her, small sparks jumping off her skin, sexual energy being drawn from her body directly into his. Rodney winked at her and continued on his way leaving a trail of patrons clamouring for his touch in his wake.
They walked through a curtained entrance at the back of the club that opened into a room decorated like a cavern; several small pools were set into the floor. Gemstones had been set into the ceiling, reflecting their multi-colored lights down into the waters. The pools appeared to be lit from beneath. The whole room had an otherworldly feel. Rodney ushered the occupants out of the room. A variety of demons pulled themselves out of the pools, making their ways hastily out through the curtained doorway.
“I figure the best place to hide is in the last place anyone would think to look,” he said with a devilish rise of his eyebrow.
Mara gave Rodney a confused look. He responded with another half-smile that was pure evil.
“Watch.”
Rodney knelt down beside one of the glowing pools. He stretched an arm out over the water and produced a small, jewelled dagger from his suit jacket with his other hand. An incantation in the demonic tongue rolled off his lips as he sliced the dagger across his outstretched palm. His lavender-coloured blood flowed out of the wound, dripping down into the pool. He moved his outstretched arm to paint a demonic symbol in the still waters. As the blood dissipated, the water began to bubble and boil of its own accord.
“What’s happening?” Mara asked, her voice curious.
“Watch and wait.” Rodney replied quietly.
As the boiling bubbles died out the waters calmed to a still, lavender pool. Rodney looked up at Mara and stretched out his free hand. “Join me.”
In silence, Mara took his hand and moved to Rodney’s side at the pool’s edge. “It’s simple; just step over the edge,” he whispered.
With their eyes locked, Mara and Rodney stepped out. Instead of splashing into the pool of water, Mara found herself sliding through a purple fog. She felt gravity shift and pull at her from all the wrong angles. Mara struggled with panic, but quickly felt Rodney’s arms circling her, calming her. She felt a little like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. As the fog dissipated, the gravitational pull shifted again and the air became cold. Suddenly, the fog cleared and Mara found herself in a stone walled room with candelabra sending flickering light around the space. Looking down, she saw that she was standing in the middle of a frozen lavender pool. A four-poster bed was set along one wall; an antique oak dresser was against the opposite wall.
“What is this place?” Mara asked as she looked around her in wonder.
“Welcome to my private bolt hole.” Rodney said as he strode into the room, pulling Mara along with him. As they walked away from the frozen pool, the ice cracked and began to thaw.
“The whole time we were together I never knew about this place!” Mara said, slapping Rodney on the arm.
He shrugged. “A man has to keep some of his mystery.”
“What was that?” Mara asked, pointing to the lavender pool.
“That, my dear, is my own private portal. Don’t tell.” Rodney winked and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “We’re in Sheol. A private corner that’s well-warded.”
Understanding dawned on Mara and she began to smile. “Smart man! We can hide B in the last place Satan will ever look for him…right under his nose!”
Time for the fallen angel to return to Hell.
Chapter Eight
Bataryal
Flickering lights pierced the veil of midnight as the wind rushed past him. His skin stung and burned as he hit terminal velocity. Thunder rumbled as he continued his descent. Abject terror swallowed him from the inside out. Pain radiated from the ruined stumps that had once held his glorious and powerful wings. Wings that had soared through the heavens with his angelic brothers for eons, now reduced to a pile of blood and snowy white on the marble floor of Heofon, Heaven’s castle. His soul wept for his loss. They had been princes of Heaven, and were now being tossed down to become the paupers of Hell. As he crashed toward the earth he prayed that mercy would be taken upon him at the last moment, delivering him from his intended punishment and that the fall would end his immortal life.
The impact came out of nowhere. He felt his bones shatter and his insides liquefy but still unconsciousness evaded him. Blood seeped from his shattered body, leaching into the ground. A rumbling began beneath him, the dirt shifting and moving violently. The smell of rot and sulphur began to permeate his nostrils and his panic rose. Hands clawed their way free of the earth, grabbing at his mangled body, pulling him deeper into the crater created by the impact of his fall. He tried to scream, but no sound emerged from his ruined vocal chords. Unable to move his broken body to free himself, the ground opened up beneath him and swallowed him whole.
It seemed as though he was dragged for miles. Time stood still and pain was his constant companion. Rocks gouged into his skin, tearing what was left of his ruined flesh from bone. The stench of rotting flesh grew more and more pronounced as his captors dragged him into a stone chamber far below the surface of the earth. Pain radiated from his eyes as they regenerated at angelic speed, the dim light pierced his retinas as he slowly opened them and got his first look at his surroundings. The grey stone walls were covered in soot and grime from the dozens of pillared black candles. Demonic sigils were painted across the walls in a macabre display, the blood used to create them dripping down in slow moving rivulets towards the filthy floor. As the charmed Wolframite shackles snapped shut around his limbs, tears slid down his cheeks and he began to mutter a futile prayer through his torn lips.
Locked in the nightmare, Bataryal screamed out as his skin was ripped and torn, his bones snapped and broken over and over by the demons that held him captive. Ruby red eyes bored into his as he was used and abused in a never-ending cycle of pain and shame. He caught glimpses of his fellow captive, his angelic brother Yetarel, as the torture was heaped upon both of them. The remnants of his soul burned away as time lost all meaning — days, weeks, and months blurring together.
As he screamed, the scenery around him flickered in and out of focus, ghostly images of torture designed to drive him out of his mind. Realizing that he was locked in his own mind, B tried to pull himself out of the descending spiral. He pulled forth the memories of his thousands of conquests. Nothing could make him feel less like the shamed and abused soul than the memory of the women he’d had over the years. Those women had made him feel strong and desired, not like
the worthless prisoner he knew he really was. Their faces flashed through his consciousness. All beautiful, all desirable — women that had made him the envy of every male he’d encountered. They had been his salvation all these centuries. Suddenly, his Greatest Hits Parade turned ugly. Adoring faces turned to expressions of mockery and laughter. They pointed at him and jeered, whispering to each other and giggling, looks of disgust marring their gorgeous faces. He realized he was nude and strung up like a side of beef from the filthy ceiling. He began to turn slowly, chained by his wrists, dangling like a used up marionette. The faces began to blur together as he spun faster and faster on a carousel ride from hell.
Round and round he went, his stomach heaved and his skin shrank. A cold sweat broke out and his breath sawed in and out like he was running a marathon. He could feel the blood screaming through his head as his heart beat so fast he felt like it was going to break through his rib cage and jump straight out of his chest onto the grimy floor. B squeezed his eyes shut and held on for dear life.
The hellish cyclone suddenly stopped. B felt like he was in the eye of the tornado, with no clue how he’d gotten to this sudden place of quiet in the ugly storm. A feeling of peace and belonging washed over him like a warm breeze. He felt a waft of warm breath near his ear followed by the sweetest voice he’d ever heard.
“It’s ok, B, I’m here with you.” Cool, soft hands cradled his cheeks. B’s eyes burned and a tear slipped from the corner of his eye. A delicate finger reached up and brushed away the tear with all the care in the world, so at odds with his surroundings.
“Open your eyes, B, look at me. It’s not real. It’s not real, I promise.” The beautiful voice whispered close to his ear.
He latched onto that voice like a lifeline sent straight from Heaven. Slowly his panic faded. His breathing slowed; his heart rate returned to normal. His body felt less raw as relaxation poured through him.
