Welcome to Hell Box Set: Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Mel Goes to Hell Series Book 123)

by Demelza Carlton

  She'd come so far – she'd drag hope kicking and screaming to the very depths of Hell. She paused to look at the dark letters. She didn't want to deface something that had evidently taken a lot of time and effort to carve, but she wouldn't leave without leaving her own mark on the place. Eternity in the absence of hope had never been her intention.

  She concentrated and summoned a short, pine plank. The wood developed a shiny white sheen as Mel's idea took form. Letters appeared in tacky red gloss, cursive suiting it better than the plain Latin letters her sign would cover. She paused and thought for a moment, before adding a spray of red glitter, spread across the sign's surface. Not hiding her smile, she hung the sign above the doorway, so that it concealed the stark letters beneath.

  She looked up at her handiwork. "A sexy devil lives here," she read aloud, before starting to laugh. She raised her voice to shout, "Luce, the longer you leave me to my own devices, the more I'll decorate your domain! I hope you like red glitter."

  She was answered by silence, but her own amusement was enough. She wanted to see Luce's face when he noticed the sign – and she hoped it would be soon.

  Twenty-Two

  The cavern was dim and Mel waited for her eyes to adjust. Her own luminance brightened to compensate – she stood out so much anyway, a little light wouldn't make much difference. She could hear the trickle of water as a stream ran deep into the cave system.

  She stumbled over some unevenness on the ground and reached for the nearest rock to steady herself. The rock moaned under her hand and she realised her mistake. The soul that had once been a man was grey and huddled, shaped much like a rock, and his stillness only added to the impression of stone. She let her fingers linger on the man, closing her eyes to see what he did, if only for a moment.

  Loud buzzing drew her attention to the cloud of wasps surrounding them. The insects flew in to sting the man, who had his hands over his face instead of trying to brush them away. Mel tried to shoo the cloud from him, but it paid no attention to her. She waved her hands more widely, hoping to give the man some small relief, but the wasps disappeared as she broke contact with the damned soul.

  The man endured eternal torment – in his own head, she realised. Tears sprang to her eyes. How could anyone sustain hope when they were tortured by their own imagination? Imps and illusions.

  She touched another crouched soul – this one appeared vaguely female. She heard the woman's hoarse screams as maggots crawled through the gaping wounds all over her body. Mel reeled back, letting the woman go, as the wiggling, white larvae vanished from her sight – though not from her memory.

  She looked around. These two souls were not alone – there were thousands of huddled figures in the cavern, stretching out into the darkness. She stifled a sob. This was Hell – this sea of hopelessness. She wasn't surprised that Luce had been so eager to leave. She'd leave now if it weren't for him.

  Out of the darkness, she heard an old man's cackling laughter.

  "This is no place for you, angel. Go back to where you belong."

  Mel proceeded carefully toward the voice, only to stop in surprise. The trickling stream caressed her toes as she stared. Spanning the tiny rivulet was a flat riverboat, sitting like a bridge from one side of the water to the other. A man stood in the bow, his head hooded, a pole suspended from his hand into the shallow water. "Go home to Heaven. Hell is not for your kind, unless you wish to fall."

  Mel drew herself up. "I am here for Lucifer and I won't leave until I've spoken with him."

  "Then you'll never leave, angel. How will you withstand Hell when even the damned souls in the vestibule can drive you to tears?"

  She felt more tears trickle down her cheeks, adding salt to the stream. "This is horrible enough – and it's not even Hell?" She couldn't leave him here. How could she leave any of them?

  "No, little angel. Go back to whoever sent you. If the Lord of Hell wishes to see you, he'll find you, and you'll wish he hadn't," he said, sounding kind.

  She thought she recognised the voice, though it had been a long time since she'd heard it. "Charon?" she asked.

  "Everyone knows I'm the ferryman here, angel. If you're a new escort, so fresh you'd never heard of me before today, you should leave quickly. No angel lasts long here."

  "You'll see more clearly if you take your hood off, Charon," Mel said with a smile. "Don't you recognise me?"

  Down came the hood. The old man beneath squinted at her, looking puzzled. Some spark of recognition kindled in his eye and his shock showed. "Lady Muriel? What are you doing here?"

  "I told you – I'm here for Lucifer," she said sadly.

  "No. The risk is too great. You're needed on Earth – among men, where you can make a difference. Here, there is only despair."

  "Charon, you know better than to tell a Domination what to do. I will enter Hell and descend to whatever depths your Lord has hidden himself in. He can't hide from me."

  "I won't take you across the river, Lady Muriel," the old man said firmly, his hand shaking as his fingers grasped the pole.

  Mel laughed as she took another step into the stream. Even in the middle, the water was barely above her ankles, a cleansing coolness between her toes. "I don't need your boat. I can walk across just fine."

  His eyes widened in shock once more. "You can see through the illusions? Even the Lord of Hell traverses the River Acheron by boat. Lady Muriel...don't lose yourself in the darkness here. Some of the shadows here are darker than anything on the surface."

  She bowed her head in thanks. "I will do my best. If you see Lucifer, tell him I'm looking for him. Remind him that he is in my debt and I will collect."

  He bowed in response. "I will, Lady Muriel, and I wish you well. My hopes go with you."

  Twenty-Three

  "I never should've bought that round. Buying rounds only ever ends badly. Someone else always orders the most expensive cocktail and you're left to pick up the bill..." a voice slurred. "Should've stuck to drinking mead."

  Mel laughed. "Buying rounds is always trouble. I miss mead like we used to get."

  She followed the sound of more slurred imprecations and found a man sitting submerged in shallow water. She splashed across to him. "Where was the best mead made?"

  "Larissa, in Aeolus. Did you ever taste it?" the man asked dreamily. "I owned the first tavern in Larissa and none could compare to it. They tried to copy my recipes, but making good mead is an art..." The man looked blearily at her. "Do I know you? No one's talked to me in so long. It's like I'm invisible..."

  "If you make the best mead in Larissa, then you must be Acheron, Demeter's son. I believe I did taste it once, but that was a long time ago. What happened to you?"

  "Bunch of men were all that was left of a huge army. Defeated, they came into my tavern for a drink. Wanted to drown their sorrows before heading home. I poured a round of mead, took their coin, then headed to the cellar for another jug when I heard their story. My shout and all. When I came back up, the crazy general of the winning army was wrecking my tavern. Some idiot named Zeus. Him and his men broke everything. I tried to stop them, but some of them picked me up and dragged me to the river. I woke up in the water and I'm waiting for the dawn, so I can see to walk home. My wife'll be waiting."

  Mel understood Demeter's desire for redemption of those here now, seeing her son sitting like a drunkard in the gutter. She hadn't the heart to tell him that his wife and family were long dead, as was he.

  "I saw your mother recently. She sends her love," Mel said instead.

  "Mother's the one who taught me to make mead," Acheron said happily, stretching out in the water, his hands behind his head. He started to snore.

  Mel sighed sadly for Acheron's fate. To everyone else, he was simply a part of the river that bore his name now. She resolved to find some mead when she reached the surface once more, to drink to Acheron's memory.

  Twenty-Four

  Mel thought she could see a flicker of light in front of her, wavering
as if reflected on water. She strode forward more confidently. Perhaps she'd finally found some of the hellfire she'd heard about. This place seemed far more dank, dark and depressing than the fiery place of torment she'd been led to believe it was. All she felt for the denizens of this place was pity. And Luce – lost among them, somewhere. She could feel his presence still, but she knew he was much deeper than she'd reached thus far. Her heart ached for him – he seemed so lonely. "I'm here, Luce. You'll see me sooner if you come to me. I'm dependent on your demons for directions." She sensed no change in him, so she doubted he'd heard her words. She ploughed on.

  Mel squeezed through a narrow crevice and found the cavern widened considerably after it. It had to, to accommodate the columns stretching as far as she could see. This cave was lit from above, faint moonlight or sunlight shimmering through the dripping water and slick stalactites to reach the pool below. The whole room looked like some sort of castle, with towers and walls made by limestone accretions over many millennia. Even the columns were natural formations, where stalactites and stalagmites, or stalactites and the floor, had met and married.

  She hadn't expected to stumble across something so beautiful inside Hell. She wanted to ask Luce about it – what dark secrets did this place hold? Or was this place somewhere he came to for respite from the darkness throughout the rest of Hell? She stepped carefully into the pool to take a closer look at a glimmering column, noticing glow worms for the first time. This cave must have been close to the surface, to capture and keep Earth insects.

  Something bumped her foot and she looked down. A blissful-faced man floated on the surface, his eyes wide open and glazed, as if in a drugged stupor. Mel carefully backed away from him, apologising, but he didn't reply. Only now did she notice that the pool was full of such floating figures – all of them drifting upon the surface, staring up.

  She left the water completely at this point, not wanting to make contact with any of the other strange souls. Perhaps this was where Hell's denizens were rewarded for good behaviour – or it could be some form of torture she couldn't fathom.

  She left them to their pretty play of light on water and limestone. When she found Luce, she could ask him about the place. Hell was stranger than she'd thought – but still sad. Drifting in a dream was not much of an improvement on living in fear of an illusion, as the souls in the vestibule had been.

  A soft sound made her look down. A pink bundle of feathers lay at her feet – it looked like it had flown into the cave but had been unable to find the way out. She lifted the bird, feeling the faint vibration of its fast-beating heart. "This is no place for you, little one," she whispered, kissing the cockatoo's back. The bird turned its head to regard her and let out a shriek as it lifted its crest, flashing a sunset spectrum of feathers.

  Mel closed her eyes and traced the light to its source in the desert sky above. She breathed on the bird, sharing her knowledge of the way out. "Fly," she said, releasing the Major Mitchell cockatoo. White wings spread, flapped and sent the creature flying upward and away. A final shriek of farewell filtered through the caves in its wake.

  She shook her own wings, wishing she could follow the cockatoo from darkness into daylight.

  "I'll see you fly out of here, too, Luce! You're going to spread those wings for me, because I love you and I won't leave you here," she shouted.

  A pink feather landed by her foot and Mel leaned over to pick it up. Pink fluffiness was as out of place in Hell as she was. Luce should have come to confront her by now. Perhaps she hadn't made her presence clear enough to him yet.

  Mel's eyes darted around the cavern, looking for a flat stretch of wall for her canvas. This time, she'd try her hand at cave painting instead of sign writing. Metaphorically speaking.

  She heard the cockatoo shriek faintly again, joined by the sound of several more birds. A flock in flight, she decided, in garish pink and red, holding the image of the birds in her head as she summoned the coloured pigments she'd need to bring the image to life. White and pink, red and yellow...Mel opened her eyes to survey her handiwork. Larger than life, the pink cockatoos soared on the limestone, headed up and out. As she would be, as soon as she found Luce.

  She'd carry him out in her arms if she had to, like a reclaimed soul for Heaven. For that's what he was. And if there was hope for him, then there was hope for all the others here, too.

  Twenty-Five

  The two junior demons shuffled their feet and stared at the stone. Luce knew he'd remember their names if he thought about it long enough, but he didn't want to waste any more time or thought on them. Luce found he grew more impatient the longer they took to get to the point.

  "Why haven't there been regular reports on the number of new souls entering the gate?" he demanded.

  "We've been working in the office and..." one mumbled.

  "But you've been back a week, without a word between the two of you." Luce looked from one to the other and still couldn't see their eyes. "What's wrong with the gate?"

  One of them jerked his head up, his wide, frightened eyes meeting Luce's. "We don't know who did it! Everything was fine – a bit quiet, maybe, after the dangerous drivers came in for the weekend, so we stopped for a smoke..."

  "You were smoking on the premises while on duty?" Luce boomed. "You know there are human laws about that sort of thing..."

  "We weren't in the office – we went back inside to light up, like we always do. It was raining out," the second demon whined. "There isn't a procedure about smoking in Hell. Just outside and in the office."

  Luce took a deep breath. He'd forgotten. It'd been that long since he'd smoked anything, after spending so long in the human world, that it'd completely slipped his mind that it was normal to smoke here. "Go on. The gate?" he prompted.

  "Yeah, the gate," the first one continued, glancing at his companion. "Look, it was fine. No one around and no trouble. So we stopped for a break and when we came back, it was there. We didn't see who it was. But there was this stink of angel around..."

  "Just the stink – no sign of the angel, though," the second piped up. "We looked around outside – got wet and everything – but couldn't find him anywhere."

  Luce grunted impatiently. "Did you think to check inside?"

  "What angel would be crazy enough to come into Hell?" The two guard demons looked at each other and laughed.

  "Angels do nothing without a reason," Luce said softly. "So if the angel left – what did he do before he left?" He kept his eyes on the squirming guards.

  "He defaced the sign, sir! Left a note," Demon Two said helpfully.

  "A note." Luce couldn't have made his voice more expressionless if he tried. "And what did this note say?"

  The guards exchanged nervous glances. Demon One coughed. "Best if you see for yourself, Lord Lucifer. You'll probably understand it better than we could."

  Luce nodded and stood. On his signal, all three of them transported directly to the cave entrance. The rain had stopped temporarily, but the damp on the ground and in the air, compounded by the heavy cloud above, promised that their reprieve was brief. God, the desert rain smelled good.

  One of the demons lit a cigarette with shaking hands, dropping his match in the damp sand. A wisp of smoke writhed up as it extinguished.

  A flash of light caught Luce's eye. For a moment, he thought the match had flared up again, but it looked redder than the tiny sulphur flame. He scanned the wet ground. It looked like flecks of metal or glittering stone on the red desert sand. He glanced up at the gate arch.

  Red glitter. He scuffed at the flecks in the mud, seeing the colour bleed out, leaving only the silver behind.

  Michael. Who else could it be, but the cross-dressing angel who hated him so passionately? Only Michael would be cruel enough to taunt him about the loss that was still raw in his heart – and in such a childish way, like a teenager with a spray can in an alley on Earth.

  "If you see any more angels, I want you to subdue them on sight and then bring
them to me. We won't tolerate this kind of disrespect. Hell is not a place for jokes," Luce said shortly, trying to hide his pain. He'd give anything to hear Mel call him sexy again. Hell, he'd give anything to hear her laughter at one of his jokes.

  "What do you want us to do with the sign, sir?" Demon One asked timorously.

  Luce shrugged. "Leave it where it is. It's true." He turned and said, "Remember – any more angels – bring them straight to me, in my office. I don't have time to be traipsing all over Hell because of some silly angel's idea of a prank."

  As he shifted from the gate to his desk in the depths, he caught one guard whispering to the other, "So which demon is the sign talking about?"

  He wanted to turn and shout at his subordinates, if only to release some of his anger and frustration, but his grief floated too close to the surface. He sank onto his desk chair as the tears started to fall. He summoned the precious red handkerchief – the one that Mel had transformed from black to its current colour – to catch the droplets before they could hit the desk. Demons didn't cry – definitely not the Lord of Hell. God, what would the others think of him if they saw?

  But the Lord of Hell had never lost his beloved angel before. He'd never had one to lose until now and he'd barely had her for a moment before they took her away.

  To Hell with everyone and everything. Luce sealed his office to everyone else and lost himself in grief.

  Twenty-Six

  Mel rounded a corner to find her wings caught on the rough rocks enclosing a narrow passage. Folding them out of sight, she surveyed the line of shadowy, sad souls blocking her progress. Some of them were shaking where they stood, while others shifted their feet constantly, as if looking for firm ground to stand on from which to plead their case.