Hell in a Handbasket

by Mila Young

  I sigh and place the black flame candle I’d been looking at back on the vendor’s table. Dorian and I love the thrill of the fight as much as the next demon, but Elias is a different animal entirely. The scars marking his skin from all the fights he’s started and subsequently finished proves it.

  The circle of onlookers has already started to grow. Some even cheer. As the other two creatures lunge for Elias, Dorian half-changes, his hair lightening in color and his nails sharpening. A collective gasp rises from the crowd.

  Dorian uppercuts one orc hard enough that it staggers back, then he slashes his talons across the other’s neck, slicing it clean across. Blood rushes from the wound and the creature grasps at his throat, making a loud gurgling sound.

  This has gone on long enough.

  Huffing, I slide through the masses until I get to the heart of the chaos. Dorian’s about to attack the only remaining orc, but I seize him by the back of his shirt and haul him backward. His head whips around, seeing me, and the manic lust in his eyes that I know so well dies instantly. The orc takes his chance to flee and barrels through the rowdy spectators, knocking most of them down in his haste. Only when Dorian’s demon begins to fade away do I let him go.

  “So much for not causing a scene,” I mutter at him.

  He offers me an apologetic smile before glancing at Elias, who is still hammering the one’s skull into oblivion. The bastard’s been dead for a while now, but he doesn’t let up. Like he’s trying to make a point. To whom, exactly, I don’t know.

  “Elias,” I hiss his way, but he’s deaf in this carnal state. I turn to Dorian again. “We need to stop this before the guards throw us out or someone else decides to take their chance on us. We don’t need a bloodbath now.” We have too many enemies here, people who would love the opportunity to take their shot at dispatching us. And there isn’t time. Not when Aria and the harp’s relics are still missing.

  He nods in agreement, and together, we seize Elias by the shoulders and rip him off the corpse. His hair, chest, and face are streaked in crimson, but between his fingers is the leather cord and bronze coin necklace he fought so wildly for.

  I snatch it from him, my anger coiling around me like a serpent. “This is what you went off the rails for?”

  Elias jerks out my grip with an aggressive roll of his shoulders. Lips curling, he snarls at me. “I thought it could help us find Aria.”

  I peer at the inscription across the center, seeing nothing spectacular to it at all. It’s as useless as costume jewelry.

  “It’s a fake,” Dorian says. “I told him that.”

  Clutching the thing in my fist, I squeeze. It doesn’t take much for it to crunch in my palm. It’s not even real bronze. More like tin foil. I understand Elias’s desperation, given our circumstances, but he should have known better.

  Annoyance growing, I chuck the remains onto the ground and look up. There have to be at least fifty pairs of eyes on us now, watching.

  Bringing my darkness to the surface, just enough for effect, I set my gaze on the crowd. Anyone too close steps back in fear. My voice comes out deeper whenever my demon is unleashed, and it adds to the effect I need. “What are you all staring at?”

  They scramble, shoving each other out of the way or pretending to be busy perusing the goods for sale. Within seconds, it’s as if nothing has happened. No one even glances at the two dead orcs on the ground again.

  Spinning to face Dorian and Elias, I say, “Need I remind you both that we came here for a reason? The idea was to stay under the radar so we could get what we need and get out quickly.”

  Elias angrily wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, well, shit happens.”

  I narrow my eyes on him. “I’ll muzzle you if I have to.”

  When Dorian’s laughter erupts behind me, I throw him a warning glare. He clamps his mouth shut immediately.

  I swear, sometimes the two of them are no better than children. I clench my jaw tightly. “Get in, get what we need, and get out,” I repeat. “No more detours. No more mess.”

  “Fine,” Elias snaps.

  “We’ll find something,” Dorian begins, gesturing to the many vendor tables and the less than legal wares for sale. “And it’ll be something better than some rusty old amulet to help us track her down… Wait—” He stops suddenly, eyes growing wide as if an idea has just struck him.

  “What?” I ask. “What are you gawking at?”

  His lips twist into a sly grin, and his green eyes become alight with mischief. “I know exactly what we need. Follow me.”

  He spins around and slips his way through the crowd again. One look at Elias and we’re both hurrying to follow.

  Dorian leads us to the very last row of tables, near the edge of the pier. Against one of the large pilings, a tent of multiple colored fabrics is hung. Christmas lights drape across them, and the overbearing scent of incense wafting from inside is strong enough to choke a bear.

  As Elias comes to my side, he coughs and hacks. Bear, hellhound… either way, my point is made.

  “What… the… fuck?” he sputters to Dorian, gasping to breathe. He rubs his nose frantically as if he’s trying to erase the colliding smells of jasmine, vanilla, amber, lavender, and who knows what else from assaulting him any further. Even my eyes begin to water.

  “Quit your whining. It’s not that bad,” Dorian says.

  “It’s worse,” Elias wheezes and continues to rub his nose raw. “Is he trying to cover up the smell of dead bodies in there?”

  Laughing, Dorian shrugs, but the glimmer of excitement is still twinkling in his eyes. “She,” he corrects. “And maybe.”

  Who is this person he’s bringing us to see, and how did he know she was here? I know he visits the market the most out of the three of us, but he’s never mentioned a woman vendor in a tent before.

  Pulling the makeshift tent’s flap open, he disappears inside.

  I turn to Elias. “Maybe it’s best if you stay out here,” I say. “Keep an eye out for the orcs.”

  He’s squeezing his nose now, his eyes bloodshot and irritated. His words come out in short spurts as he struggles to breathe. “Works for… me. There was no way… I was going in there… anyway.”

  Nodding, I pull the curtain door open and step inside.

  What I’m faced with next draws me to a stop. I’m in a vast circular room with high, peaked ceilings, large columns, and everything is decorated in expensive silks and floating lanterns that appear to be manipulated by magic. Is this mysterious person Dorian knows a powerful spellcaster?

  The overwhelming perfume-like smells are even stronger in here, and I don’t know what’s worse at this point—the overwhelming stink of the markets outside or this. My throat feels scratchy and tight just standing here.

  Dorian, though, strolls across the room, admiring the space. Humming, he kicks one of the many pillows on the floor. “Miranda,” he sings-songs as he walks. “Miranda, darling, where are you?”

  Across the room, another curtain pulls aside and a woman enters. Dressed in a long purple dress that ties around her neck and has billowing sleeves, her hair is decorated with stripes of vibrant colors, braids, and beads, reminding me of the motif humans cast most psychics in. All she’s missing is the scarf wrapped around her head, some tarot cards, and a crystal ball.

  When she spots Dorian, her arms cross and she cocks a hip, not looking pleased to see him at all. “You,” is all she says.

  Despite her chilly demeanor, Dorian is all smiles as he strides over to her, holds her firmly by the arms, and places a kiss on each of her cheeks. Her lip curls in disgust.

  “I told you never to come here again,” she spits, shrugging off his grasp.

  “Oh, Miranda. Don’t be like that,” he charms in typical Dorian fashion. “We had fun, didn’t we? You and me… in the sand… at sunset…”

  Her eyes narrow. “And you never calling after...”

  Dorian winces and rubs the back of his
neck nervously. He’s backed himself into a corner with this one. I should help him, but part of me is enjoying watching him squirm too much. I’ve warned him that his reckless behavior on Earth, especially with powerful supernaturals, would get him in trouble one day. We have a lot of enemies, but most of his are scorned women.

  “Now you only come when you need something,” she says.

  “Yes, well… You know how it is—”

  She waves his attempt at an excuse away. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it. It’s not worth my time. Just get out.”

  “Miranda, I need your talents—”

  She cuts him off again. “Get. Out.”

  Dorian glances at me, hoping for backup, but I don’t know what kind I can offer. I don’t know this woman; I’m still unsure why he’s even brought us here.

  For the first time since she walked in, Miranda’s gaze swings my way, finally seeing me. That’s when the anger drains from her face and her eyes widen.

  "Who is this?" she asks as she slowly makes her way around the circular room toward me. Her movements are graceful but calculated, and her voice is suddenly silky smooth. She smiles as she draws closer until she stands before me. Eyes shining with mystery and extreme interest, she peers up at me.

  Dorian's acquaintance or not, there's something about this woman that reminds me of a viper. Lethal. Deadly.

  "Lord, Almighty. Who would’ve thought today was the day a prince of Hell would come strolling into my tent," she begins and continues to study me. "Cain, am I right? First son of Lucifer and Pride himself."

  Although I am baffled how this strange woman knows me and my lineage, I keep the surprise off my face.

  “Yes,” I say. “You are correct.” I've made it a priority not to discuss my father or direct connection to Hell with anyone on this plane. Well, besides Aria, but that was in a moment of weakness. Most know I am a demon, one that’s not to be messed with, and that is good enough for me. There is no need for specifics.

  So then, how does Miranda know? The only way is if Dorian told her, which makes my anger stir. It’ll be something we’ll have to discuss later.

  “Of course I am,” she replies, a grin splitting her ruby-painted lips. “I’m always right.”

  She leans in, chin tilted up, honeyed brown eyes dancing between my eyes and my mouth. Straightening my spine, I look at Dorian as he walks over. I don’t know what this woman’s game is, but I don’t trust her. I certainly don’t like how she’s watching me, like she’s been waiting for this very moment for decades. For me.

  I clear my throat—a warning at her closeness—and she steps back. The slippery smile remains in place. “Dorian, dear, you never told me you knew a prince of Hell,” she chastises.

  “Didn’t see the need,” he replies with a nonchalant shrug.

  So Dorian hadn’t revealed me.

  I start to put the small pieces of what I’ve learned so far together. Miranda and Dorian clearly had some kind of fling before this, which isn’t too surprising given he’s an incubus. But he did mention her having a specific skill that could be useful to us. One I was assuming isn’t sex-related. And if she knew who I was and had foreseen meeting me, what could she be? The tent, the floating lanterns, the peculiar clothing choice…

  Then it hits me.

  “Ah, there it is. He’s got it now,” she says.

  “You’re a seer.”

  She lifts a bony shoulder. “Seer. Clairvoyant. Psychic. Doesn’t matter how you label it really, but yes, I can see what others cannot. Whether that be the future, the past, or the present.”

  Now our reason for coming here made more sense. Seers are an extremely rare supernatural type. From what I’ve read during my studies of this plane, they’re found mostly among Roma travellers. Or gypsies, which is the derogatory term for them. But the gift of seeing isn’t guaranteed to pass to offspring like with other supes, so finding one at all is a rarity in itself.

  If we can convince Miranda to help us, depending on how powerful she is, she could tell us where Aria is. Or, even better, where we can find the other relics so we can finish building the harp.

  The moment I open my mouth to speak, she holds up a finger to silence me. Her nails are filed into sharp points. “Before you ask, no. I cannot find any of the remaining pieces of Azrael’s harp that you seek.”

  I clench my jaw, my irritation growing. “And why not?”

  “My sight does not extend to anything Hell or Heaven made. Anything from those realms I do not have access to. It comes in too blurry for me to understand.”

  “Then how did you know about me?” I push, not entirely believing her. “I am most certainly Hell made.”

  Amusement dances in her gaze. “You are very clever. But I was able to see you—well, most of you—because you were interacting with my future. I saw you through me. Does that make sense?”

  Personally, it sounds like technicalities and a whole lot of bullshit. Excuses.

  Old obsessions are rearing up. I step toward her, my darkness rising and darkening my sight. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

  At seeing a hint of my demon, she flinches back, but only slightly. Her fear is quickly replaced by curiosity and interest.

  “It’s not worth my life,” she says. “Just trying alone could kill me.”

  My patience is wearing thin. “And what if I kill you if you don’t?”

  Her hand reaches out to stroke the lapel of my jacket, but before she can make contact, I snatch her hand and wrench it back to a painful angle. She cries out and buckles, pain contorting her face.

  “Let go! Let go!” she screams.

  When I do, she rubs her wrist tenderly and mutters, “Unlike Dorian, you don’t like to be touched. Got it.”

  “Cain,” Dorian cuts in. “Miranda can help us find Aria.”

  Aria. Yes, that’s right.

  Rolling her wrist to make sure it still works, Miranda grimaces. “You boys sure have a way with the ladies.”

  “Please forgive Cain here. He’s still learning manners,” Dorian says with an uncomfortable laugh. Trying to make light of the situation, like usual. “We need you to find someone for us. A girl.”

  Miranda’s gaze slides to him. “A… girl?”

  “A young woman,” I correct. “Her name is Aria.”

  “Do you know her last name?” she asks.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Dorian replies. “But she was taken from us, and we need to know where she is.”

  “I’m starting to believe she’s better off.”

  My anger flares. “Will you be able to help us or not?”

  Her coy smile is back as she turns to me again. “Of course I can. But, as demons, you must know very well that nothing is given for free.”

  “We can pay any price,” Dorian says.

  “Not money,” she says, looking back and forth between us.

  “Oh, I get it.” Dorian begins to undo his belt and then his pants.

  She waves her hands frantically to stop him. “Not that.” She huffs, and he begrudgingly redoes his clothes. “I do business in favors.”

  Favors. I don’t like the sound of that. And from the hesitance in Dorian, he doesn’t either.

  But do we have any other choice?

  “I prefer the sex,” Dorian says.

  “Of course you do.” Miranda turns to me again. “But I’m looking for something… better.”

  “Better than sex? With me?” He appears offended by that comment. Apparently, she’s bruised his ego.

  She ignores him, still intensely focused on me.

  “What is it you want, then?” The second the question leaves my mouth, I regret it. Something sparks alive in her gaze, something I know all too well. A secret obsession she holds, and I’ve just offered her the key to everything she’s ever wanted.

  A long moment passes. Then, she says, “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

  Dorian’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactl
y what I said. I’ll let you know my favor when the time comes.”

  “Like an IOU?” he asks.

  “No. Absolutely not,” I snap immediately. I’m not going to be in debt to anyone.

  She spins and flips her long hair over her shoulder. “Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.”

  Dorian and I exchange looks. He’s unsure but thinks we should take the deal, given our desperate circumstances—I can see it on his face. I, on the other hand, know that there is no way this doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass later.

  But again, what other choice do we have?

  “If it makes you feel better, you can put it in the form of a demon deal,” she offers. “Write it all out and I’ll sign. Make it legal.”

  A demon deal would solidify our agreement, meaning she wouldn’t be able to lie without risk of losing her soul.

  Still… We don’t know what she wants, and we’ll be bound to that.

  Miranda begins to walk away. “I’m sorry, but I’m very busy, and it sounds like you have a lot of searching to do. Though I suggest you work fast because your little Aria may not have much time left.”

  My chest clenches with worry and rage that she’s playing us this way. We’ve been doing nothing but wasting time though. What could a seer want, anyway?

  I draw in a deep breath and call to my power. There’s a small sucking sound as the new contract pops through the veil and into my suit, and the distinct smells of smoke and sulfur linger. I reach into my inner jacket pocket, pull out the scroll, and hand it to her.

  She unrolls it. The edges are burnt and still smoldering.

  “You have exactly three hundred and sixty-five days to call in your favor,” I tell her. “If you don’t or if you die beforehand, you forfeit your claim to it and we take your soul.”

  She doesn’t even bother reading it, but I note the slight hitch of her breath. “Then you, Dorian, or the other demon currently waiting outside and sneezing like a loon cannot cause my death. Or force me to call in my favor in any way within that year,” she adds.

  Damn, she’s good. Caught the loophole I’d been hoping to take advantage of if I needed to.

  “Go on,” she says. “Write it down.”