by Lisa Shearin
“Crazy? Kidding? Neither. I can’t hold against this vortex for long. I’ll swim us over to the wall.”
My only other choice had me waiting to be sucked into Hell. Die in Rake’s arms or be ripped apart by demons that never learned to share their food?
I let go of the slab and slid into Rake’s arms.
And into the brimstone. Brimstone that amazingly felt no hotter than hot bathwater.
Rake flashed a quick grin as he held me tightly against his chest. “Like being in a hot tub, except we’re not naked.”
My mouth was parched. I swallowed and panted. “If that hot tub . . . was draining into Hell.” I thought for a moment. “Why didn’t you pull . . . me out like you did with Kitty?”
“That trick’s one shot only.”
The goblin was breathing heavily from keeping our heads above the brimstone and fighting the force of the whirlpool at the center of the pit that was beginning to pick up more speed.
Rake had expended an incredible amount of magical energy. Catching Kitty, fighting Silvanus, shielding the two of us—it all picked that moment to catch up with him. The current grabbed us both, sweeping us away from the walls and toward the pit’s now churning center.
I couldn’t think, I couldn’t react, and I had no air to scream.
Rake’s grip around my waist and back never lessened.
A swell of brimstone passed between us and the vortex. Something was swimming just beneath the surface. Something huge.
A white worm as big around as a pair of fifty-five-gallon drums breached the surface like a whale. The massive head swiveled and two pitch-black eyes the size of a man’s fist focused on us.
It was a larger version of Marty’s demon toddler.
One of the parents. Or the parent, depending on how demonic white worms reproduced.
I’d given up trying to make sense of anything I’d seen since stepping through that portal. I stared in dumbfounded amazement. It was all my stunned mind could do.
Rake’s cough sounded like a laugh.
The giant worm submerged, and my stomach tightened at what I knew it was going to do.
Oh crap, crap, crap!
Rake tightened his grip on me. “Hang on, darling.”
The worm surfaced again right next to us, gently but forcefully nudging us away from the vortex and toward the nearest wall. I’d heard of dolphins supporting drowning swimmers and pushing them toward shore. I never expected to experience it with a dolphin in the ocean, much less with a demon worm in a brimstone whirlpool.
The worm held us against the wall with its broad head until we could get a few much needed breaths.
“Get on my back,” Rake told me.
“What—”
“I’m climbing out . . . you on my back.”
“How can you—”
“Muscle . . . and magic.”
At least the last part made sense.
I looked up at the jagged Hellpit wall. There were enough hand- and footholds, but it was completely vertical. Goblins were stronger than humans, so Rake would have been able to do it if he was at full strength, but he wasn’t. Plus, he’d be carrying me like a backpack and maintaining the shields that were all that was keeping both of us from bursting into flames.
I looked from the wall into Rake’s eyes. The reasons why this was impossible were limitless. The other options we had were none.
I chuckled, though it sounded like some kind of vocal spasm. “Do or do not.”
Rake gave me a crooked grin. “There is no try.”
I got on Rake’s back, wrapping my legs around his waist, my right arm around his middle, my left arm over his left shoulder, clasping my hands over the center of his chest. It wouldn’t do either one of us any good if I choked him on the way out of here.
The momma worm submerged, leaving us.
With his hands and feet glowing even brighter than the rest of him, Rake Danescu actually climbed out of Hell carrying me on his back.
Ian and Fred were there along with Kitty and Martin to pull us out, but there was no sign of Isidor Silvanus or his demon lord partner.
Ian pulled me to my feet and didn’t let go.
“Where’s Silvanus?” I asked him.
“He ran. Rake could have either chased him down, or gone after you.”
If Silvanus hadn’t run, Rake would have been forced to stay and fight—and I would have been sucked down a brimstone vortex into Hell.
Thank you for being a coward, Isidor Silvanus.
I gave a little sickly grin. “I like his choice.”
“It was a damned fine one.” Ian’s gaze searched my face. “You okay?”
“Better when we get out of here.”
Ian hadn’t said a word about not being able to help me. I knew he didn’t like Rake Danescu, but there were times like now when personal feelings had to be tossed to the curb.
Suddenly my ears popped. Painfully. I could actually feel the hot air around us pressing down on my body. I took a quick glance around. Everyone looked similarly pained and confused.
Rake put his hands to his ears. “Isidor has used his ‘back door,’ as Agent Byrne called it, to leave this pocket dimension.” He snarled in frustration at not having the elf’s neck between those hands. “He just took the first step in collapsing it.”
Fred swore. “We’ll be trapped.”
Rake shook his head. “It’ll simply force the demons out of the Hellpit faster. They won’t miss their chance to get out into the world.”
I had news, neither would we.
“I have to close the pit now,” Kitty said. “Quickly.”
We’d all done everything we’d come to do and could do. Taking in our singed, burned, and battered selves, it was obvious that hadn’t gone too well for us. Now it was Kitty’s turn. Stop the worst demons that Hell could hork up from invading New York and then the world. All the little baker had to do was close a pond-sized Hellpit. A Hellpit that within minutes, if not seconds, would be drained and permanently open, with demonic hordes streaming out of it.
And she had to do it all without an anchor. Vivienne Sagadraco may have located one, but they were somewhere out there, and we were in here.
No pressure.
Rake turned back to face the Hellpit.
“Go,” he told the rest of us, including Kitty.
As much as all of us would’ve loved to have done just that, none of us did.
Kitty quickly stepped in front of Rake and strode to the rim of the Hellpit. She extended her arms out over the pit, palms down.
The goblin was incredulous. “What are you doing?”
“My job.”
“It’s too big now for you to close.”
Kitty’s glare was withering.
“By yourself,” Rake added.
Rake could be wise, too.
“Are you offering to anchor me?” she asked.
“I am.”
Kitty hesitated. “What are your qualifications?”
“I’m here.”
Kitty looked at me, her question there but unspoken.
Yes, Rake was here, but could she depend on him? He’d been there for me, but would he stay there for her?
The anchor mages who had worked with her in the past either didn’t have the strength for the work or the balls for the danger.
Would Rake Danescu stand with her until the end—whatever that end might turn out to be—or would he bolt like all the others when she needed him most?
She needed to know if she could trust him.
She wanted to know if I trusted him.
Rake’s eyes were on me. So were Kitty’s.
I nodded to them both.
* * *
If Kitty had been able to turn the incredible power she was using now to close the Hellpit against Isidor Silvanus, the elf mage would’ve been a greasy spot in SPI’s parking lot, she wouldn’t have been kidnapped, and we never would have had to set foot inside the pocket dimension. We could have done all this f
rom Rake’s wine cellar, and then celebrated by popping open a couple of bottles. Heck, after this was over, even I wanted a drink.
The Hellpit was about half the size that it had been, when Kitty went pale and started shaking, and the sounds from below increased in volume and intensity: howls, shrieks, roars, and screams. After being kidnapped by an elf dark mage and spending who knew how long encased in an icicle, Kitty’s body was only human, and it had had enough.
Rake stepped up behind her and simply placed his hands on her shoulders.
My seer vision couldn’t detect what was passing between them, but I assumed Rake was boosting her power with what remained of his own.
However, as the Hellpit continued to close, the distance between us and the wine cellar portal grew.
Ian saw the same thing I did and scowled, his only reaction to possibly being trapped in a collapsing pocket dimension with an only mostly closed Hellpit. Neither of us said a word or moved, doing nothing that could distract Kitty and Rake from their task of what was the magical equivalent of world-record powerlifting.
Martin DiMatteo was fearfully looking up at the cavern ceiling.
When a man who took field trips to Hell was afraid, the time to panic had officially arrived.
“Lord Danescu,” he said on the barest whisper, “the dimension is being elongated.”
Kitty never took her eyes and focus off of the work in front of her, but Rake took a quick glance up, and bared his teeth in a silent hiss.
The realization of what Martin meant sank in and suddenly there wasn’t nearly enough air.
Isidor Silvanus had created this pocket dimension, so he could manipulate it. The rules in here were his rules—and basic physics. The dimension was anchored in two places: Hell and Bacchanalia. Two ends of a long and narrow balloon.
As we watched, the stone ceiling of the cavern was being stretched as if the two ends of that balloon were being simultaneously pulled apart. It was what you did to make balloon animals. The balloon started off as a snake, which was the only kind of animal I’d ever been able to make. But in experienced hands, it could be twisted into a poodle. I had no doubt that Isidor Silvanus and his demon lord partner were master manipulators. Yes, they’d cut their losses and run, but if they couldn’t release demons into our world, they’d cut us off from any hope of getting home, trapping us with what demons managed to escape the Hellpit before Kitty and Rake could get it closed. Or if they got it closed, the elf would be fine with trapping us in a tiny pocket dimension, forever cut off from any help, until our air ran out or we cooked from the heat, whichever came first.
Then another ugly realization hit. As badly as he wanted revenge against Rake, that just might have been his plan all along.
Lure us in, cut us off.
I didn’t want to die inside of a poodle ear.
“Rake,” Martin said, dropping formality and the goblin’s title. “We need to run. Now.”
“It’s not closed,” Kitty managed between clenched teeth. “They can still get out.”
“It’s close enough,” Rake said. “And in a few moments, it won’t matter.”
Kitty was aghast. “I can’t just let it go!”
“Just drop—” Fred began.
“The recoil,” Rake said in realization. He readjusted his grip on Kitty’s shoulders. “Let’s ease back on it—”
Martin was still looking up. “No time.”
“No choice!” Rake snapped. “All of you go. We’ll be right behind you.”
None of us moved.
“Stubborn humans,” the goblin hissed.
“That would be us,” Fred drawled. “Well, at least half of me.”
I wanted to run, but I’d settle for pacing, except it might distract Kitty and Rake. So I just stood there, twitching. I couldn’t get any sense that they were doing anything except standing like statues staring at a Hellpit.
“Hurry,” Martin told them, his voice amazingly calm.
Rake murmured a few words in Kitty’s ear as she slowly lowered her arms.
And a triumphant howl from countless demonic throats came out of the smaller—but not small enough—pit and filled the cavern.
“Run!” Rake shouted.
We all did. Rake and Kitty included.
We didn’t look back. I didn’t want to. If a demon was going to catch up with me, it’d happen. I couldn’t run any faster, and if a demon did catch me, I’d get a good look at him while he killed me.
I had yet another in a long line of horrible thoughts. What if Isidor Silvanus had closed the portal into Bacchanalia’s wine cellar? Sandra and her team were there, but if the elf wanted to slam the door in their faces, there’d have been nothing they could’ve done about it.
I shoved that thought aside. I’d tear into that portal with my teeth if I had to. Besides, we had Kitty. If she could close a Hellpit, there hadn’t been a portal made that she couldn’t rip open.
An unearthly shriek came from right behind us, immediately followed by a ground-shaking impact, Ian’s shouts, and Rake’s snarls. I stopped and turned.
Ian and Rake had been bringing up the rear, and now they were paying the price.
A demon had Rake on his back pinned to the path, holding the goblin down with only one massive clawed hand. The demon was blue, bald, and had biceps the size of the goblin’s head.
Normally, big wouldn’t have mattered with Rake. He had enough preternatural strength and speed to give that demon a run for his money.
But Rake was exhausted, physically and magically; still, he wasn’t giving up.
I drew a knife. I couldn’t kill it, I probably wouldn’t even hurt it, but I wouldn’t stand by while Rake was ripped—
Neither would Ian.
My partner had long run out of bullets for his six-shooter, but he had a pair of long knives in his hands and was moving faster than I’d ever seen him move, darting in, striking, and making each cut count. I knew what he was doing. The demon’s nails were basically five-inch-long claws, and he knew how to use them. Ian couldn’t get close enough for the kill, so he was trying to do enough damage to force the demon to turn and defend himself, giving us enough time to drag Rake out of there.
Then Ian would be facing the demon’s full wrath.
The stone path shook, and it wasn’t from the collapsing pocket dimension.
Demons, a wall of demons, were charging toward us.
And my partner had his back to them.
“Ian!” I screamed.
The blue demon half turned, and seeing his comrades bearing down on us, smiled in a show of elongated shark-like teeth.
He shouldn’t have stopped to be happy.
Rake had one knife left, and he used it, slicing the demon’s wrist, nearly severing it from the clawed hand still holding him down. The demon howled, and Ian dove under his guard, and with two slashing motions, hamstrung him.
The demon went down, and Ian pulled Rake to his feet.
We got Rake’s arms across our shoulders and our arms around his waist, and together we dragged the goblin and ourselves through the portal Kitty was holding open for us.
No one had told us what to expect when escaping from a Hellpit inside a collapsing pocket dimension. Then again, I didn’t think anyone knew.
All things considered, being in Hell’s anteroom one second and stepping with a gooey plop onto the floor of Rake’s fancy wine cellar the next was a small price to pay. I could have done without being coated in exit portal ecto-goop, but I wasn’t going to quibble.
Rake couldn’t see through the blood that’d run into his eyes from the gash on his forehead.
“Are we out?” he asked weakly.
“You bet,” Ian told him.
“How?”
“Our muscles,” I told him, smiling. “No magic.”
Within a minute, the goblin was more or less on his feet, insisting to us and Sandra’s team medic that he was fine.
We stubborn humans had nothing on stubborn and proud gobli
ns.
Rake leaned against the wall beside a wine rack, the front of his leather jacket and the shirt underneath hanging in shreds from the demon’s claws. There was a lot of blood, but the cuts appeared to be superficial. Lucky for Rake, the demon that attacked him wanted to play with his food first.
He would have stayed on his feet if it hadn’t been for the truly bad combination of ecto-goop on a marble floor.
Rake’s feet slipped out from under him and he stumbled against the glass wall of one of his wine racks.
His shoulder barely bumped it, but it was enough.
Pride goeth before the fall.
He was fine. The wine? Not so much.
The bumped wine rack tilted and tapped against the first section of glass wall holding dozens of bottles of his priceless wine. That section of wall fell, triggering a domino effect until the entire cellar was a sea of wine and broken bottles.
It looked like every bottle of wine was broken, and Rake had done it himself.
The goblin started to laugh, but Fred had beat him to it.
Above it all, I could swear I heard the hissing laughter of Alastor Malvolia.
33
BACCHANALIA was still standing—at least on the outside.
When we’d all gotten out of the building, we could hear the rumblings of the club’s marble floors collapsing into the hole that had opened where Rake’s wine cellar used to be. Even though the pocket dimension hadn’t occupied much physical space outside of the wine cellar’s wall, its implosion caused enough of a disturbance to bring on a partial collapse.
“What I’m saying is that all demons aren’t bad,” Martin was telling Fred. “They just live in a bad place.”
The Con Ed folks were calling it a sinkhole. The supernaturally clued-in Con Ed people had “discovered” the gas leak on the other side of the wall from Bacchanalia’s basement in an old drainage tunnel. The line had broken as a result of the sinkhole that had opened beneath the tunnel and spread into the exclusive sex club.
Baxter Clayton was broadcasting live from a block away. The corner of Bacchanalia’s building was just visible in the background. Baxter had his cameraman keep both him and the building in the shot as he talked. The anchor was probably praying to God that Bacchanalia collapsed while he was on the air.
