The Counterfeit City

by Jenna Lyn Wright

  “That happens to all of you, the crazed giggle before you come back to yourselves and realize what’s happened and where you are. I’ll give you a moment,” he says, but the fog is already starting to clear.

  My laughter and the dizziness fade as the sound of blood rushing in my ears is replaced with muffled cries and moans of agony. It’s coming from outside, beyond the leaded glass of the windows on the far wall, where smoke presses in, making the clear panes nearly opaque. An orange glow flickers and writhes beyond. Shadows appear and dissipate.

  “You belong out there, you know.” My attention snaps back to Lucifer, and I find him standing across the room behind a massive black lacquer desk with legs made of stacked skulls. “Writhing in pain with the damned and the forsaken. Suffering for the havoc you’ve wreaked. Paying for the destruction you’ve caused. Pandemonium accepts all kinds of sins, and yours are some of the worst.”

  He’s right. To deny it would be foolish, and a lie. I can only nod.

  “Refreshing. Most deny it.”

  Lucifer gestures for me to take a seat in one of the chairs across from the desk. It’s made of iron bars and obsidian and cuts into my back as I sit.

  “What I require of you is two-fold.” He takes a seat in a plush leather chair and leans back, projecting relaxation, but there is a kinetic energy to him. He is a cut wire on a wet street, snapping and sizzling and deadly. “You helped Lilah amass quite a collection of my things. Not only me, of course. She stole from other deities as well.” He leans forward. “You’ve made quite a lot of enemies.”

  “Other deities?” My mind reels with the possibility of gods both old and new existing just beyond my previous reality, and I feel slow. I’m speaking with Lucifer. It shouldn’t be hard for me to believe he’s not the only fantastical creature that exists in real life. Or, real afterlife, I suppose.

  “You think there’s only one way to worship? To sin?”

  It’s then that I notice the shelves lining the walls from top to bottom on either side of the room. They are studded with hundreds of religious and pagan artifacts, text, and idols. Some instantly recognizable. Some that must be of times and places I can’t begin to fathom.

  “Before tonight, I didn’t even think you existed,” I say, “do you really think I would’ve taken the Devil’s property if I’d known?”

  “That’s irrelevant, now, isn’t it? And let’s say you hadn’t stolen and only murdered. How is that any better?”

  He’s got me there.

  Lucifer stands and moves to one of the shelves, retrieving an intricately carved wooden box the size of an envelope.

  “Something very dear to me has recently gone missing. Thieves and liars around here, you know.” He waves a hand to illustrate his point as he saunters back behind the table. “You need to retrieve it before Lilah has the chance. I assume she would’ve sent you on the mission to obtain it had she not decided to have you murdered instead.”

  He sets the box on the desk and flips it open. It’s lined with red silk, and it’s empty.

  “That’s where the Dagger of the Fallen should lie.”

  The words send a terrible shiver through me, and I involuntarily flinch back. “Why does she want…”

  “Most angels have wings,” he spits out, and I swear I see fire in his eyes. “The Dagger was used to take mine when I was cast out. That Dagger created me, for all intents and purposes. Combined with the other artifacts you helped her steal, she will be able to use it to raise an army of demons against Pandemonium,” he says, splaying his arms to indicate this room, this building, this plane of existence. Against me.”

  He snaps the lid shut. “That is unacceptable. You will obtain the Dagger, and you will slay her, sending her back here to Pandemonium to face her punishment.” He takes a moment to smooth back his glossy black hair and straighten his jacket. “If, in the course of your travels, you happen to kill the one who killed you…?”

  Lucifer shrugs as if to say one more soul for me.

  Lilah not only knew about this place, but she came from Pandemonium? She knew the truth of gods and demons and evil things? She… “Is Lilah is a demon?” I ask.

  “Lilah is a betrayer who deserves to rot out there,” he nods toward the window and the screaming sinners outside, “with the rest of them. As you would have, as you will, should you refuse my offer.”

  If I were tossed into Pandemonium it would be better than I deserve. I have destroyed lives and it would be a fitting punishment to spend all of eternity paying for it. But he wants this Dagger badly, despite the cool nonchalance he’s trying to project, and while I do want revenge for David, that’s not enough. I believe I can make a deal with the Devil that will satisfy us both.

  “I do this for you, and you will send me back to David?”

  “I have no jurisdiction over him.” He points up. Heaven. “But retrieve the Dagger for me and I will return you to the earthly plane with your karmic debt paid. All those people you’ve killed. The lives you’ve ruined. Erased. I’ve been told that if you live a good and righteous life, perhaps you will see your loved ones again.”

  Though I know better, hope sparks within me.

  I’ll have a chance.

  I am caught off-guard by the terror I feel at that prospect.

  He extends his hand as if to shake, and I hesitate. The weight of what I’m about to do, and the price for failure, presses down on me.

  “Don’t tell me I’ve misjudged you, Gray. You’re a killer. What’s one more?”

  Still, I can’t bring myself to shake his hand. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me that David is well and truly out of my reach and that whatever reward I think I’m going to get out of this deal will be twisted into a grotesque approximation of my expectations.

  “Or,” Lucifer says, his tone one of realization, “is it that you don’t think you deserve him? What if you’re given a second chance to live life with humanity and kindness, and you fail? Losing David a second time?” He smiles, and it is wicked and cruel. “That is daunting.”

  His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I taste bile. The pain of losing David a second time would turn me to ash.

  He wiggles the fingers on his outstretched hand. “Take my offer, or join the damned.”

  No contract.

  No signature.

  Just a handshake deal with the Devil himself.

  I thrust my hand out and instead of grabbing to shake, he snags my arm, squeezing his palm against the inside of my wrist. As before when we were transported here, smoke rises from my flesh, filling the room with an acrid tang, and fire sears me. Just when I think I will collapse, he lets me go and claps his hands together in delight.

  My wrist has been branded with a slashing symbol the size of silver dollar. Over a matter of seconds, the skin dulls from an angry red to a fresh pink scar. As I watch, black appears in the edges of the shape, like water welling up through cracked desert earth, and the scar morphs into a tattoo.

  “What is this?” I say, thrusting my arm toward him.

  “Just a little something to help me keep track of you. Not that I don’t trust you. Or, should I say, it’s not that I don’t trust you, specifically. I don’t trust anyone. I know the capacity for evil that lurks in the hearts of men and women.”

  He strides toward a door at the far end of the room, motioning for me to follow him. “You kill Lilah and her soul will deliver you back here to me to complete our bargain. You fail, you’ll wander the Earth in an endless limbo.”

  He grabs the iron knob on the door and twists. “And I’d pay a visit to Nicodemus if you want to survive the night.”

  Nicodemus? My steps stutter as I reach him. “But I thought, I mean… I died, didn’t I?”

  “Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean that you can’t be killed. Now, go make me proud.”

  He throws open the door.

  I get the briefest glimpse that beyond the threshold there is nothing but a sheer drop into the Abyss below
before Lucifer grabs my shoulder and unceremoniously tosses me out into the void.

  7

  I wake up gasping in my bed, and for the space of a heartbeat, I believe that this has all been a nightmare. That David is sleeping soundly next to me. That I have kept him safe, and that we are about to start our lives together. That we can still run and run and run and that nobody will find us.

  My hand slides toward his side of the bed. It is empty. Cool. And the sheets are stiff and rough underneath my fingertips.

  Dried blood. In the darkness, I can’t see the stain, but I can taste the copper tang in the air. Pain lances through me and I allow myself a few brief seconds to curl into a ball and weep, tucking my knees to my chest and burying my face into my pillow, trying to catch his scent.

  When I am drained of black tears, I get to my feet. There is no time to grieve. I need to understand who and what I am now, so I can be fully in control when I take on whatever awaits me outside.

  There is no pain when I move. My muscles don’t ache and my joints don’t crack. Pressing my fingertips to all of the places I took a beating in the warehouse, I feel nothing. Resurrection must cure you of the ills you had in life, I suppose.

  I’m breathing again, though I have the feeling that it’s out of habit, not necessity. So I stop, just to see. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two. My vision doesn’t dim and my lungs don’t burn. It feels odd, though, so I inhale.

  My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, though the color seems strange to me. There is a muddy purple cast to the light sifting in through the curtains, and I move to the window to peer outside.

  It is night, but the overcast sky glows in the same manner of storm clouds reflecting the orange light of the city street lamps after a heavy snow. Rather than tangerine, though, the heavens are a strangely beautiful blackish eggplant color.

  Something is wrong with the world I returned to.

  ***

  I race down the basement stairs and head right to the back wall. Flipping open the box that holds the breakers, I press a tiny button in the top corner and a small keypad flips over. I punch in the four-digit combination, and the shelf that holds my laundry supplies swings open.

  Lights behind the false door flicker to life, and I step into my hidden safe room.

  To my left, rows of identical fitted black pants with zippered pockets, white tanks, and long-sleeved black tops hang with obsessive precision. To my right, a row of identical black leather jackets hangs above ten pairs of black lace-up boots.

  I shuck off the dirty clothes I came home in last night, and the smell of sulfur wafts into my nostrils as they hit the ground.

  As I pull the fresh clothes on, I double-check myself in the bright light. My bruises are gone and my cuts have healed. The scars are still there, though. A reminder of what I’ve done to get to this place, and the journey I have ahead of me to atone.

  Fully dressed, I pull my long dark hair back into a tight ponytail as I move to the bright white dresser at the back of the small room.

  Top drawer: guns. I take two and store them in each of the pockets at my thigh.

  Middle drawer: ammunition. Bullets go into the interior pockets of my jacket.

  Bottom drawer: daggers. I swipe all of them, fitting them into the various holders and pockets I have left.

  One is missing.

  ***

  I cannot bear to look at the bed as I stride into the room that David and I shared.

  I pull the dagger I flung at Ruby from where it’s buried in the wall.

  I will make certain it hits its target next time.

  ***

  Silence greets me as I step outside. In the odd twilight, I can’t tell whether it’s early morning or late evening, but the light has not changed in all the time I’ve been inside. The city seems to be bathed in a perpetual violet haze.

  No birds chirp. No horns honk. No chatter floats on the air from open apartment windows. The sidewalk is deserted. In this part of the city, the sidewalks are never deserted. It sets my teeth on edge, and I slide a hand into my pocket to grip the handle of my dagger.

  Seven blocks later, I finally pass another human. Or, given my state, I suppose I should say a human. I’m not sure what I am now, but I’m certain of what I’m not.

  They walk by me as if they don’t see me. Not unusual for city-dwellers, but even if there is no eye-contact, there is always a casual awareness as others pass. A subtle shifting of the posture. A tiny step to the side. You are there, they just do not care to acknowledge you.

  This person does not shift. Does not sidestep. On an otherwise empty sidewalk, they pass close enough to brush my jacket and continue on their way. They leave behind the faint scent of vanilla and the distinct sense that I do not exist.

  Two more blocks and I will be on Nico’s doorstep.

  Nico, whom the Devil is familiar with, apparently.

  I knew Nico had secrets. Those of us on the questionable side of the law keep most things to ourselves, but the fact that Nico knows Lucifer? And given that, does he know that Lilah and Lucifer have some sort of history?

  I turn a corner, and the small white light above the front of a shop half a block down takes me by surprise. A light above a shop isn’t odd. It’s the sheer, shimmering brilliance that catches me off guard.

  As I get closer, I realize that it isn’t simply a bare bulb. It’s neon tubing curved and bent to form the shape of a skull. The door beneath it is black and unmarked. There are no windows to display goods or any indication of what this shop sells.

  The wind picks up, and dead leaves skitter along the pavement behind me.

  No, not leaves.

  That dry clicking is the sound of claws on the pavement.

  I glance back to be certain it’s just someone walking their dog and not a hungry rat looking for scraps and find that there is nothing behind me. At least, nothing that I can see.

  Someone is there, though. Or, more accurately, something. There is the rustling of fabric, the scrape of those claws, and the low rumble of a growl.

  The street lamps above me flicker and the shadows outside my small circle of light seem to stretch toward me as a terrible wailing echoes off the buildings on either side of me.

  I run.

  Whatever is out here with me, I can’t see it, and I can’t fight what I can’t see. If you stay still, you’re a sitting target.

  Far behind me, paws thunder against asphalt and wet breath gurgles in beastly lungs. It is gaining on me.

  I wheel around another corner and onto the street where Nico’s shop sits. The windows are dark. The sidewalks empty. My boots slap on the damp pavement as I race for his front door.

  The thing behind me is closer now.

  I get to the panel. Punch in the code.

  Closer.

  A soft buzz. Error.

  Something big.

  I glance up to see a hulking shadow round the corner at full tilt.

  Steadying my hands, I punch in the code a second time.

  Thunk.

  The lock disengages and I yank the door open and tumble inside, pulling it shut behind me just as something hits the glass, rattling the panes and sending a pile of books near the register crashing to the floor.

  It’s hard to make out in the street light and shadows, but it’s big, and mean, and something in my bones tells me it’s not an earthly creature.

  It shrinks back away from the windows.

  I wince as a car speeds by, its lights blindingly bright, and in the sudden illumination, I find that the street is now empty.

  Behind me, there is a fluttering of cloth and the skittering of rings on a bar as the curtain that separated the shop from the back room is pulled aside.

  Nicodemus, gun raised, stands silhouetted in the doorway.

  Slowly, so slowly, he lowers the gun. “Gray…?”

  “It’s me, Nico.”

  He squints into the darkness, and I watch as his face falls when he realizes that I am who I say I am. I d
on’t know if the word has circulated about what happened to me earlier tonight, or if there is something different about the way I look, but the way he gazes at me now breaks my heart.

  His gun slips from his fingers and clatters on the hardwood floor. “Oh. Oh, no.”

  8

  “I need you to sit, Gray,” Nico says. He steps into my path, forcing me to come up short.

  Sitting is the last thing I want to do.

  We are in Nico’s back room, and I can’t stop myself from pacing in the small space. My adrenaline is spiked and I have to move. “I was chased here, Nico, and I know this is going to sound insane, but…”

  “Sit,” he says, pointing at the stool in front of his drafting table. He must’ve been reading when I burst in here because a new book is positioned underneath the lamp, its pages scrawled with maroon ink.

  I sit because I have no choice. I have been thrown out into a strange new world where monsters chase me through the city streets, and Nico is my only option for answers at the moment.

  He peers down at me, frowning. “Easy,” he murmurs, and takes my face in his hands, studying me. Running a thumb over my cheekbones, he turns my head left, then right, his scowl worsening by the second.

  Finally, he takes my hand and turns my wrist up. Lucifer’s blackened brand is stark on my skin.

  “So you know who sent me?” I ask.

  Instead of an answer, I receive a gaze filled with pity. That would be a yes, then.

  “You can’t help me?” I continue. “He sent me to you…”

  Nico lets out a long sigh as he runs a gnarled hand through the wispy white hair atop his head. “Unfortunately, Gray, I can. And we have a lot of work to do.”

  He shuffles away from me, toward the back wall of the room, and as he goes I can almost see him box up his worry, set it aside for another time, and get focused for the task that lies ahead.