The Brimstone Deception

by Lisa Shearin

  “If you can’t close this pit,” Rake began, “then what is my incentive to give you the contract?”

  “Give me the contract and you will not have to watch Miss Poertner die in one of the worst ways you could imagine.”

  Rake wasn’t moved. “One life saved over the lives of millions lost. You’ll have to do better than that, Isidor. Again, what is my incentive?”

  “You will have a chance, goblin. A chance that Miss Poertner might actually succeed where I might fail—should I be inclined to attempt to close my masterpiece, which I am not. A chance was more than you had before I allowed you through that portal. Humans are such optimists, even in the face of miserable odds. It will be—how do you say—a ‘win-win.’ You and your companions die a noble death, and my partners gain unlimited access to this world.”

  “That’s a crappy win,” Fred muttered.

  “For you, but not for Lord Danescu. This goblin has survived every attempt to end his life, and there have been many, including my own.”

  Rake shrugged. “Everyone has an off day.”

  “But you won’t be having an off day today, will you, goblin? Once again, you will fight to save your own life.” The elf mage smiled. “But in the next few minutes, will you fight for the lives of your companions—even if it will mean losing your own?”

  Rake’s dark eyes narrowed. “You’ve wasted enough of our time.”

  “Oh, but I believe it is a fine use of time.” The elf began walking around the Hellpit toward us. “Your companions should know what they have welcomed into their fold.”

  Ian snorted. “I wouldn’t say ‘welcomed.’”

  “Then you are a wiser man than I would have thought, Agent Byrne. I have been observing Lord Danescu and Agent Fraser, and have noted that the goblin goes through the motions of considering her more than merely a temporary human amusement. His performance was quite impressive at the museum last week and the café a few days ago. He nearly made a believer out of me, and I know Rake far too well to be fooled. You’ve known him for little more than a year, Agent Fraser, and as a human, you can hardly be faulted for being deceived.”

  “Nice try,” I said.

  Truth was it was a damned fine try. It was also the oldest trick in the book. Sow doubt, weaken the enemy. There were many levels of trust, and I still didn’t know which ones, if any, Rake was good for. It probably depended on which way the wind was blowing. Isidor Silvanus knew we had to rely on Rake and his magic whether we wanted to or not, and he wanted to weaken what little trust we did have.

  The question “Did I trust Rake?” had two answers: yes, and not as far as I could throw him.

  Both were true. Both were Rake.

  Goblins were complicated.

  “You and Miss Poertner are valuable commodities,” Silvanus was saying. “Being a businessman, Lord Danescu is quick to identify and exploit any asset he may find. Tell me, Agent Fraser, has he offered you employment?”

  Only within two minutes of meeting me.

  “And when you did not accept, did his attentions turn to more of a romantic nature?”

  Within two and a half minutes of meeting me.

  “Our Rake can be most persistent—and patient—in acquiring the things he wants.”

  Not people. Things.

  Every word Isidor Silvanus said was true. However, there were also grains of truth in every lie. Rake may have started out wanting me because of my seer gift, but over the past year, that had changed.

  Or had it?

  I knew what my gut told me, and my gut had never been wrong. But when it came to Rake, my heart was reserving judgment.

  I’d never been in love. I suspected if Rake ever had been, once he’d realized what’d happened, he’d probably run in the opposite direction like he was on fire. I think Rake liked me. I know he lusted after me—and any beautiful and breathing woman. I was breathing, but I wasn’t beautiful.

  The only thing left was what I could do, the reason Rake had wanted to hire me the first night we’d met. The thing he lusted after.

  I was a seer. A good one.

  A valuable commodity, as Isidor Silvanus had put it.

  Rake’s motives were a mystery.

  But right now, his motives didn’t matter. Perhaps he truly cared what happened to our world beyond losing a strategic outpost against the elves, or he was simply too stubborn and proud to accept defeat on any level.

  Rake Danescu was a goblin. He could balance motives like a plate spinner. But there was one thing that I did trust. Rake would never hurt me. If he thought he had a good reason, he would tell me white lies, black lies, and every-color-of-the-rainbow lies, but I knew in my gut, heart, and head that Rake would never hurt me.

  For now, that was enough.

  Isidor Silvanus and the demon lord arrived on our side of the Hellpit.

  The elf beckoned Rake to him with a wave of his hand. “The contract, if you please.”

  The goblin made no move. “Miss Poertner?”

  Silvanus impatiently waved a hand, illuminating an area directly over the Hellpit, and dropping yet another veil.

  We all looked up.

  Oh my God.

  Kitty was imprisoned inside a clear stalactite suspended only a few feet above the bubbling surface. Whatever it was made of, it was melting, dripping with sizzling plops into the Hellpit.

  She didn’t look frightened. She was furious.

  Good for her. Better for her if we could get her out of there without either her or us getting flash fried in brimstone.

  “As you can imagine, ice—especially hollow ice—doesn’t last long in a place like this,” Silvanus was saying. “I can only do so much to slow the melting.” He held out his hand. “The contract, Danescu. Now.”

  Rake casually strolled toward them, stopping less than ten feet away. It was entirely too close for comfort. Knowing Rake, that was precisely why he did it. “I find it difficult to believe that your partner failed to put his master’s copy in a safe place.” He paused and smiled slowly. “Or did he put it in a place that was safe from his master?”

  The demon lord’s eyes were glowing bright yellow.

  Rake hit a sore spot with that one.

  “You toy with your betters, goblin,” Silvanus warned. “There was another goblin dark mage who, astonishingly enough, approached my level of skill, but he recently got himself carried off by a particularly large demon. He only conjured demons to force them to do his will. I prefer networking.”

  “Networking? Or collusion?” Rake looked to the demon lord. “You, Lord Zagam, desired a way out of your realm and into that belonging to the humans. I say ‘your realm’ only in the sense that you reside there. You neither rule nor own it.” The goblin smiled broadly. “I think we all know who does. And since you do not own it, you are legally ineligible to sell, lease, or rent brimstone mining rights to anyone. And you, Isidor, along with your brother, Phaon, needed access to molten brimstone. You dislike me intensely; your brother wanted to disrupt goblin intelligence, so you chose my wine cellar to anchor the pocket dimension containing your Hellpit. I am the legal owner of that property. You sought neither my permission nor offered me an owner’s share in drug profits.” Rake’s smile was slow and confident. “Anchoring your Hellpit on my property is trespassing. Selling mining rights to a mineral you do not own is outright theft. I don’t own Hell, so I have no legal recourse. I do, however, own this property. I could charge you rent, Lord Zagam. Or I could evict you.” Rake glanced around with exaggerated distaste. “At the very least, I want to redecorate,” he muttered. “But for now, I’ll go with eviction.”

  The demon lord smiled as he gazed around the ever-expanding pit and cavern, ending with Kitty imprisoned in the ice. “You are welcome to try, mortal.”

  “As a very wise teacher well-known in this dimension once said: ‘Do or do not. There is no try.’ I fully intend to ‘do.’ Alastor Malvolia was hired and paid to draw up a contract between the two of you. You call yourself pa
rtners, but there is no trust between you, hence the contract. Alastor did as he was paid to do—and more.” Rake shook his head in admiration. “To the two of you, contracts are merely words written with ink, and aren’t worth the paper they’re written on if you choose to go back on your word.” He regarded the envelope and its contents with something close to pride. “But this little document is truly a marvel of evil magic and legal genius. Alastor not only drafted the words, he crafted the paper from both demonic and elven skin, then he mixed his own goblin blood into the ink. His words, in his blood, paper from your people, and your signatures to soul-bind you to every word on this document.”

  The demon lord smiled, showing even more sharp teeth than his mini-me. “This is a pocket dimension, created and owned by myself and Magus Silvanus. I am not in violation of the contract as we are not in Hell.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Fred muttered under his breath.

  “You may own the pocket dimension,” Rake continued, “but you do not own the brimstone that is now flowing through it. You have misrepresented your rights of ownership to all of this brimstone. According to the contract, that means the brimstone’s true and legal owner is entitled to collect damages or recompense in any manner he chooses. I don’t believe His Dread Majesty will be pleased to discover that his trusted chancellor profited from the sale of his property.” Rake’s dark eyes landed on Isidor Silvanus, and a faint smile curled one corner of his mouth. “Or that an outsider knowingly purchased said property and exploited its use for additional gain, making you both equally guilty of grand theft. Only later did you discover Alastor’s trickery in drawing up the contract—and you killed him for it.”

  “I should have ensured the goblin lawyer was conscious and then cooked him at a lower temperature.” Isidor Silvanus smiled indulgently. “But what’s done is done. Now here you are with the original—and sole remaining—copy. As usual Rake, you do far too little, too late.”

  The pointed base of Kitty’s icicle prison ran water in a steady stream. Silvanus’s concentration was wavering, and Kitty’s prison was melting faster.

  “You say you prefer networking,” Rake continued as if Kitty had all the time in the world. Son of a bitch. “Networking has its place, but so does rendering mutually beneficial favors.” He raised his voice to a ringing shout. “Have you heard enough, Dread Majesty?”

  A red forearm the size of Rake’s entire body emerged from the brimstone right beside the rock he was standing on. It rippled with lean muscles, and each long finger was tipped by a sharp, black nail. Thankfully we couldn’t see the rest of it, but from elbow to fingertip, it looked just like the demon lord, albeit ten times his size.

  If size meant higher on the power ladder in Hell, then Isidor Silvanus’s demon lord pal was this big guy’s bitch—or if he wasn’t already, he was about to be. The thumb and forefinger extended toward Rake like he was about to pinch the goblin’s head clean off his shoulders.

  Rake didn’t flinch, but coolly reached out and put the contract between the two fingers.

  The demonic fingers pinched closed and submerged beneath the bubbling surface.

  A collective, disbelieving gasp came from all of us.

  Isidor Silvanus’s was more on the horrified end of the spectrum.

  The demon lord looked ready to faint.

  Oh yeah, someone was in trouble.

  “No need for concern,” Rake told us. “The paper content is seventy percent demon skin, making it hellfire and brimstone proof.”

  Considering that Kitty was inside a melting icicle over a Hellpit, I didn’t give a rat’s ass that the paper was seventy-percent recycled demon.

  “Dammit, Rake, hurry up!” I whispered.

  “While your master is reviewing the contract,” Rake said, “apparently for the first time—do be reasonable and release Miss Poertner.”

  The demon lord inhaled, turned to Kitty’s icicle, and blew freaking fire directly at her. What was left of the ice kept Kitty from bursting into flames, but the icicle was history.

  Kitty fell, screaming.

  Rake caught her.

  He didn’t run across the surface of the brimstone and catch her as she fell—though that would have been impressive, too. He extended his arm, spread the fingers of his hand, and her fall stopped.

  That would be magic.

  Kitty’s eyes were as wide as saucers at the sensation of dangling in midair over a pit of molten and popping brimstone.

  Isidor Silvanus threw a fist full of acid-green fire at her only to have it deflected by the bubble-like shield Rake had wrapped around her.

  Kitty screamed again.

  I didn’t blame her. Though this scream was less fear and more rage at being held in the air and used for target practice.

  The elf dark mage simply chose another target.

  Us.

  Isidor Silvanus clenched his hands into fists, brought them sharply together, then wrenched them apart.

  And the rock beneath our feet snapped apart like slabs of ice from an iceberg, putting me, Ian, and Martin each on a hula-hoop-sized personal island, surrounded by, and floating—not so well—in, boiling brimstone.

  The jolt knocked me off my feet, and the sudden shift in weight tipped my slab of rock and nearly tossed me over the side. I desperately grabbed the edge, brimstone spitting like Hell’s bacon grease on my hands and face.

  I screamed. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it.

  This was why Isidor Silvanus wanted us here. Rake couldn’t save all of us, and the elf knew—despite what he said about Rake only caring about himself—that he’d try to save some of us. More hostages, more distractions, more chance of success for Silvanus. He’d thought about what could go wrong and he’d covered all of his bases.

  “This is an unwanted complication,” Martin noted.

  Rake quickly gave the elf a taste of his own medicine.

  The ledge where Isidor Silvanus was standing suddenly broke away from the cavern floor and tilted sharply down toward the Hellpit. The elf mage had to scramble to stay on his feet. Rake used the distraction to pull his extended hand to his chest, bringing Kitty with it. This time, he did catch her in his arms. Kitty didn’t look any happier now than she had while dangling.

  The demon lord bellowed in rage and flicked his clawed hand at Rake and Kitty. A sickly green blur formed in the air, coalescing into a massive snake, its head rearing far above Rake’s head. The snake launched itself at them.

  Rake barked a single word, and a shield of shimmering red appeared between he and Kitty and the snake. The serpent’s head struck the shield with a frustrated hiss. The shield buckled but held. Barely.

  Even if Rake hadn’t had his arms and hands full, we had a worse problem that even the most hotshot mage couldn’t magic away.

  I thought my eyes had to be playing tricks on me, but they weren’t. The brimstone’s level was going down.

  The Hellpit was draining.

  Into Hell.

  And taking us with it.

  “This is bad,” Martin said. “Once the pit drains, we’ll be in Hell and any demon that wants to come into this world can do so.” For the first time I saw fear in Martin DiMatteo’s eyes. “And the Hellpit will be permanently open.”

  There were only a few feet between us and the rim of the Hellpit. The newly exposed rock steamed at the contact with the cooler air, rock that only seconds before had been under molten brimstone. Martin was closest to the rim. He could make it if he jumped now.

  “Dammit, Marty!” Ian roared. “Jump!”

  With a defiant squeak, Marty leapt, just clearing the distance between his sinking slab and the cavern floor, both feet making a surprisingly solid landing.

  Ian’s slab was a few feet behind Marty’s. There was no way I could make that jump, but Ian could. Both of us didn’t have to die.

  “Go!” I shouted over the chaos. “You can’t help me from there!”

  Ian jumped. One foot made it over the top. His left boo
t caught in the steaming rock, and the leather caught fire. Fred grabbed a double-handful of Ian’s leather jacket and pulled with everything he had. He and Ian landed in a heap on the cavern floor.

  The slab that was taking me down to Hell like my own personal elevator had moved too far from any shore. There wasn’t any direction that was a jumpable distance. Even if I could clear the distance, any part of my body that touched that shoreline would be instantly flash fried. Once the brimstone drained, I’d be an appetizer for the demons waiting at the bottom for the feast that was New York.

  We had guns, we had knives, but we didn’t have a fire-proof climbing rope.

  My line of vision was now below the rim of the pit, but gunfire and flashes of red and acid green light accompanied by explosions and falling rock told me that everyone else was busy simply staying alive. The heat was overwhelming. I had to keep breathing, but each breath seared my mouth, throat, and lungs. I felt like I was cooking from the inside out. My grip on the slab began to slip.

  “Mac!” came a shout from above.

  I weakly raised my head.

  Ian was on his hands and knees, leaning out over the pit. “Help’s coming, Mac! Hang on!”

  A moment later all I could do was stare in openmouthed horror as Rake Danescu—protected only by the red glow of his personal shields—dove into the molten brimstone surrounding me.

  He surfaced seconds later next to my slab, intact and not burned to a crisp, though he was sweating.

  I was beyond words, not only because I couldn’t breathe for the heat, but from seeing Rake treading brimstone like water. I must have been dying and delirious.

  Rake reached up and grabbed my forearm, his hand cool and soothing. How could . . .?

  I blinked the sweat out of my eyes and looked down.

  Rake’s hand was glowing with his shielding spell—and now, so was my arm.

  The glow spread until my entire body was encased in its protective field.

  My vision began to clear, and I could breathe again.

  “Let go of the rock, Makenna,” Rake was saying.

  What? “Are you—”