Hellfire and Brimstone

by Angela Roquet

  A rift split the ceiling of the realm in half. Black night rolled off into the east, and a white, cloudless sky spread to the west. Where the divide cracked open, a thin sheet of rain cut over the land, forming a muddy river as it gathered in the low ground between the knolls.

  The scream came again, cutting off in a guttural, inhuman wail halfway through. My hand went to my throat automatically as my mind guessed at the sort of violence that could cause such a noise.

  I took a shaky step down the front porch of the cottage, and Naledi’s hand clamped over my shoulder.

  “Wait,” she hissed.

  A body smacked the ground in front of me, not two feet away, and I yelped in surprise. Limbs splayed every which way. The outfit was fresh enough in my memory to deduce that this was the soul who had been sitting next to Morgan. As I stepped in to get a closer look, I noticed the soul was missing its head.

  Naledi made a mournful noise in the back of her throat. “We’re too late,” she whispered, her fingers digging deeper into my shoulder.

  “Naledi!” Morgan called out as she ran across the lawn toward the cottage. Her small hands were covered in blood and her eyes dilated with terror. “Father Ron is dead,” she sobbed. “What’s happening?”

  Something flapped in the sky overhead, casting a shadow over the sunny half of the lawn. I took a timid step out from under the cover of the porch and looked up, feeling the breath squeeze from my lungs.

  Grim hovered in the sky. The black wings he had once kept tucked beneath his flesh to disguise his Greek origins fanned behind him, and corded muscles encased his naked body. The sight of him was made even more alarming by the soulish head held in his hands. Grim’s eyes filled with black, and the sky crackled with energy as his hands began to glow. They melted through the soul’s skull, and then Grim pulled outward, stretching the soul matter like a Chinese finger trap, until it popped.

  Soul matter exploded in the air like fireworks, but instead of watching it dissipate, Grim leaned into it. He took a long, heaving breath, shuddering as the soul matter entered his mouth and nose. He seemed to expand with it, like a balloon filling with more air. When he was done, his black eyes slowly dropped to mine, taking me in as his head cocked to one side.

  I couldn’t breathe. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. Naledi tugged at my arm, but I was only vaguely aware it. I couldn’t take my eyes off Grim. I was too afraid he’d eat me alive if I did.

  A sob from below broke Grim’s attention, and only then did I feel safe enough looking away. Morgan had fallen to her knees. She held her bloodied hands out in front of her, staring at them helplessly. My heart reeled as Grim twisted in the air and then darted for her.

  “Hold this.” I shoved the wooden box in Naledi’s arms and ran across the lawn, digging the skeleton coin from my pocket.

  As I neared Morgan, I threw myself on top of her. The coin was already in the air. Grim’s furious face descended on us and his hand grasped out. I had a moment of uncertainty. What would happen if he caught the coin before I did? What would happen if he smacked it out of my reach? It was all I could do not to close my eyes and curl into the fetal position.

  Time seemed to slow as the skeleton coin fell toward my open palm, and when my fingers finally closed around it, I still couldn’t breathe. Not until we reappeared in front of the cottage and snagged Naledi.

  I gave Grim one last look, too terrified to manage a victorious sneer, and then I flipped the coin again, taking me, Naledi, and Morgan to safety.

  Chapter 20

  “To himself everyone is immortal; he may know that he is going to die, but he can never know that he is dead.”

  —Samuel Butler

  “We have to go back.” Naledi turned wide, agitated circles on the beach at the edge of the Sea of Avalon. The isle of the fey that Morgan hailed from had risen above the water in the distance. Torches sparkled along the shore, outlining its perimeter against the dark sky, and wild music carried across the sea, bringing with it a trio of small canoes.

  Una, the faerie queen that adored Morgan, stood in the center boat, her red curls glittering with strange treasures, some of them living, and the white dress she wore glowed softly with a light all its own. It spilled out across the water, helping the fey oarsmen stay on course.

  Morgan sat in the wet sand, awaiting their arrival. The red tights she wore were torn and tears streamed down her face. She hadn’t said two words since we left the throne realm.

  “We have to go back,” Naledi hissed again, her hands wrapping around my arm frantically. The box that contained Winston’s soul gauntlet lay abandoned in the sand.

  “They’re all dead,” Morgan whispered. The crickets singing in the evergreens that bordered the shore on either side seemed to quiet with her declaration. “It happened so fast. I’d forgotten my book, and Father Ron stopped by to return it. When he went to leave—” She heaved out a quivering sob. “That monster snatched him up. I was so frightened. I ran to Allister’s cottage, but all I found was blood sprayed across his lawn. That’s when I ran to Naledi’s.”

  “We have to go back,” Naledi said, yanking at the sleeve of my jacket more urgently.

  “Don’t you see?” Morgan shrieked at her. “We’re all that’s left. All that stands in his way. He means to take the throne for himself.”

  “He can’t do that,” I said, looking from Morgan to Naledi. “That’s impossible, right?”

  Naledi let go of my arm and sighed. She dropped into the sand beside Morgan and pulled the girl into her lap. “The structure of Eternity is evolving, whether the council wills it or not.”

  I hated when she spoke in riddles, nonsense that sounded vaguely ominous or hopeful. It did nothing for me. At least, nothing good. Anger bubbled inside me again, and I felt the pressure and heat layering itself behind my heart.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shouted and held my head with both hands, trying to make sense of it all. An awful feeling of dread swirled in my gut, and I swayed on my feet.

  Naledi’s eyes found mine, and I felt grounded again. For the moment.

  “Listen carefully,” she said as she stroked Morgan’s hair. “The throne can be given and it can be taken. It’s as simple as that. The rituals and teas are pretense, built up in an elaborate shroud of mystery meant to discourage others from attempting a takeover. An original believer’s soul matter is more concentrated, more potent. It’s true, we are best suited to rule a world that is funded by our kind. But what Grim’s doing, consuming that power rather than letting it flow back into the fabric of Eternity…” Her breath caught and she paused to swallow. “Morgan is right. If he finds us—if he finds me—he is powerful enough to take the throne.”

  “No, no, no,” I chanted, shaking my head as I turned away from her. I stumbled a few feet away and fell to my knees, retching in the tall grass behind the beach.

  “Lana?” Naledi whispered through the dark, as if she was afraid to be left alone.

  I laughed, unable to bridle my hysteria. Grim had ripped open the sky of the throne realm and slaughtered a dozen of the most powerful souls in existence. And that was before he consumed their essence and got all supercharged. There was no way I’d look like anything other than a bug in need of squashing to him.

  The imagery made me think of Bub, oddly enough, and I glanced down at my watch. I was supposed to meet him at the ship ten minutes ago.

  “My sweet fawn!” Una called out as the three canoes scraped bottom and came to shore. She stayed in the boat but reached her hands out eagerly.

  Morgan pulled away from Naledi and threw herself into the queen’s arms. “Oh, Una!” she sobbed. “It’s terrible. All the souls in the hidden realm are dead. Thanatos is loose and on the march. Lana was only able to save Naledi and myself.”

  Una’s severe brow turned solemn. “All of them?” She lifted Morgan off the beach and placed her in the boat. Then she turned to me. “Little Death, do you recall the boon you swore to me?”
r />   The faerie queen had granted Bub and me overnight asylum last year, after I’d rescued him from the rebels and before his name had been cleared by the council. All it had cost me was a rain-checked promise I was sure I’d live to regret.

  I sucked in a tense breath and nodded. “I do.”

  Una lifted her chin and held my gaze. “Never return to this place, and you can consider it fulfilled.” Her eyes swirled with warring emotions. I could see that she was grateful, but I could also tell that she blamed me for the danger Morgan had endured. I’d collected her from the isle in the first place, and now I was returning her in an unacceptable condition. Una was warning me that should I ever try to take her sweet fawn again, she would find some way to make my life hell. The boon she’d pardoned would be forfeit, and I’d be paying with blood next.

  “Naledi?” Morgan gave Una a pleading look.

  “The throne soul is wanted by a vengeful god. We cannot endanger our people by inviting her onto the isle. You understand, don’t you?” Una ran her delicate fingers down Morgan’s cheek and under her chin. The girl shuddered and her eyes blinked as if she was coming out from under a spell. A peaceful look softened her face.

  “Dearest, Naledi,” Morgan said, turning her attention to us. “She is right. You are hunted by Grim Thanatos, and there is nothing I can offer to aid you. I am so sorry.” Tears welled in her eyes again, but her defeat was plain. I couldn’t ask any more of her. Even as an ancient soul, I saw her innocence. It was the same way Una saw her.

  Naledi stood and folded her sand-crusted hands over her heart. “Be well, Morgan. Perhaps we will meet again when this darkness is behind us.”

  Una’s unnerving stare shifted to the throne soul, and I could tell she wanted to issue another threat, but she had nothing left to bargain with. “We take our leave across the sea,” she said, nodding down to the fey oarsmen in her boat. They pushed off from the shore and began rowing toward the isle in the distance. The drums played faster and excited voices rang out, welcoming Morgan home.

  Naledi watched with lonely eyes. “The fey hold her in such high esteem, considering her even more sacred than the Christians count their saints or Horus his favored pharaohs. She is a special soul, reigning over a world that conforms to neither side of the grave. I had hoped to learn more from her before our time together came to an end.”

  I followed her gaze across the sea and rubbed the goosebumps crawling up my arms. “She doesn’t seem to be doing much reigning to me.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Naledi said. “She is the heart of that world, but she does not inflict her rule on any being. They have their own governing forces, but they come together where protecting the one who dreamed them into existence is concerned. They don’t fear or mistrust her. They don’t bicker over her for political nonsense.”

  “Speaking of political nonsense,” I said. “Where am I supposed to bring the souls Vince is harboring, provided I’m able to coax them over to this side, now that the throne realm is compromised? And while I’m asking that question, how the hell did Grim do that?”

  Tears brimmed Naledi’s eyes, and an overall sense of hopelessness emanated from her. “It’s my fault,” she said softly. “Applying a sunlight schedule to the throne realm created a window of opportunity, weakened seams at daybreak and nightfall.”

  “Can it be fixed?” I asked.

  Naledi looked up hopefully. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Then do it.” I glanced down at my watch. If I didn’t leave now, Tasha would think I’d bailed on her. There was no time to meet Bub at the ship. I dug my phone out of my pocket and pressed it into Naledi’s hand. “Call Beelzebub, Gabriel, Kevin—anyone else you trust—before returning to the throne realm. Don’t take any chances. Grim could still be there.”

  Naledi caught my arm before I could turn away. “Be careful, Lana. Vince has many original believers. They are dangerous enough on their own, but if Grim is still looking to gain more power, their gathering would be an ideal target.”

  The thought had occurred to me. “I know,” I said, swallowing hard. That wasn’t something I needed to worry about right now. Not if I didn’t want to lose my nerve.

  I bent down to pick up the wooden box out of the sand and opened the lid, revealing the new and improved soul gauntlet Warren had crafted. The dials had been upgraded to steel. I pushed up the jacket sleeve of my left arm, and a soft, insulated liner brushed my skin as I clasped the silver cuff onto my wrist, right over a patch of faint, rippled scars left by my first test run.

  If all else failed, the joking plan I’d proposed of making several trips back and forth would work in a pinch. And this was definitely a pinch. The bruising, rip your flesh off kind—especially if I got stupid and overworked the gauntlet again.

  If I had a chance to use it in the first place.

  Chapter 21

  “The idea is to die young as late as possible.”

  —Ashley Montagu

  I hurried through Oakland Cemetery, rushing past monuments and stumbling over grave markers in the fading daylight. Dewy grass clung to my boots, and the smell of rotting grave flowers filled my nostrils. Lightning lit up the clouds in the dark sky, and they grumbled, threatening more storms to come.

  The plot of land the cemetery occupied was nearly fifty acres. I’d agreed to meet Tasha in the historic section in the southwest corner—which left six acres to comb through. I suddenly wished I’d thought to request a more specific rendezvous point. My nerves were too shot to be wandering around in a graveyard at night with Grim on the prowl. I was almost crippled by relief—and a killer Charlie horse—when I finally spotted Tasha.

  “You’re late,” she said, looking down at me from where she reclined on an intricate monument—two feminine, concrete figures sitting beneath a cross. Tasha’s legs lay over their laps, her arms looped casually around one’s neck. She’d traded her beachwear for a pair of jeans and a ragged, black pullover sweater, making her look more like the displaced rebel I remembered from the streets of Limbo City.

  I hesitated, wondering if my excuse for being tardy would scare her out of following through with her favor. I didn’t have to wonder for long. She jumped down from the monument and made a face as she touched a finger to my cheek.

  “Is that blood?”

  I took a deep breath and gave her a tense smile. “If there is a fan, the shit just obliterated it.”

  “Just be glad Daddy didn’t come home and take the paddle to you.” Tasha hiccupped out a short laugh. When she realized I wasn’t laughing with her, the humor quickly melted from her face. The whites of her eyes seemed to glow in the dark, pooling around the shrinking rings of her irises. “You’re fucked. I shouldn’t be anywhere near you.”

  “Tasha!” I grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. “Please. Take me to Vince’s lair, and I’ll never bother you again.”

  Her eyes roamed the cemetery, as if she expected Grim to jump out at any moment and grab us. It made the hairs on my arms stand at attention. I didn’t think there was any way Grim could track me. Of course, I hadn’t thought he could tear his way through the throne realm sky either.

  Tasha’s breath grew labored, and her arm shook in my grasp. “I can’t, Lana. I’m sorry.”

  “Then at least tell me where you’re supposed to be meeting this soul. I’ll follow him instead.”

  “There’s a coffee bar on the other side of Memorial Drive,” Tasha whispered. She reached her free hand up and ran it over her face, tucking her knuckles against her chin. Her eyes hadn’t stopped their frantic searching through the dark, and she wouldn’t look at me. “The soul has a beard, and he was wearing a green beanie last time I saw him. His name’s David.”

  I let her arm go and she stumbled back a step. I expected her to hurl some catty remark at me, or at least give me a dirty look for her lost footing, but she just reached up and yanked the hood of her sweater over her head.

  “Be careful, precious,” she said. For the first time, ther
e was no hint of ridicule in the nickname. A gleaming coin appeared in her hand, and then she vanished, leaving me alone in the cemetery as it began to sprinkle.

  Atlanta was a big city, and I was familiar enough with it from my harvests that I knew the coffee bar Tasha had mentioned. It was just south of the cemetery. I wound my way through the tombstones and mausoleums until I reached the short brick wall that bordered the cemetery. I followed it to the entrance that opened onto Memorial Drive. A chill settled in my bones as the sprinkle advanced to a full-on rain. I grasped the shoulders of my leather jacket and pulled it up, holding it over my head as I ran across the street to the sidewalk on the opposite side.

  A few patrons wielding umbrellas ran past me and into a restaurant advertising catfish and beer. They didn’t notice me, as expected. I slipped around the building to the side street that led to the coffee bar. The handful of trees spaced down the brick sidewalk didn’t provide much shelter from the rain, but I pulled my jacket down and zipped it anyway, deciding I’d rather have soaked hair than look like I’d just won a wet tee shirt contest.

  I slowed down as I neared the coffee bar and tried to think of a better plan. There wasn’t much in the way of decent cover besides a full parking lot, but something told me that lurking around cars in the rain wouldn’t look especially casual while I staked out the place. The rain complicated things in more ways than one.

  Lost souls, as they were called even if they happened to be runaways, were a strange breed. Staying on the mortal side for too long could have adverse effects. They had to be handled carefully, which was why there was a whole unit dedicated to the process. I was grossly underqualified, but Craig Hogan—my reaper-turned-rebel and then unexisted ex—had been on the unit, and I had helped him study. So I knew a thing or two. Which was to say, I knew enough to know this could go horribly wrong.