by E. A. Copen
I barely recognized the bedroom, however. There was a new bed, queen-sized with a new quilt and new pillows. The piles of laundry and books that had decorated the floor when I’d lived there were gone, replaced by ugly green carpet.
We dropped Khaleda off on the bed, after which both of us bent over, huffing. She was heavier than she looked.
Josiah squinted at me. “Fancy a beer?”
“As long as it doesn’t have any spicy peppers in it.”
He gave me a curious look.
“Never mind,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll get the beers. You get the chicken blood off your face.”
He nodded, and we went out of the bedroom into the apartment. While he cleaned off in the bathroom, I raided the fridge. Nothing in it but a dozen beers and a pizza box. That was familiar. I opened the box and recoiled. “Now I know you’re a deviant, Josiah. What kind of man ruins a perfectly good bacon pizza with pineapple?”
“Don’t knock it ’til you tried it, mate.” He popped out of the bathroom, zipping up a fresh pair of pants.
“I think I’ll pass.” I held the beer out to him, and he took it.
Josiah took the armchair while I stretched out on the sofa. We drank our beers in exhausted silence. Images from Naraka passed behind my eyes like waking nightmares, and I shivered, suddenly cold. It wasn’t something I’d be able to shake easily.
I put an arm behind my head. “You know I used to live here.”
He grunted and took a long pull from the beer. “So, you’re the moron with the half-finished dream circle then.”
“Half-finished?” I sat up.
“Right-o. I finished it up. Got in early. Just enough time for a bit of shut-eye. Wasted it fixing that circle instead.”
Before moving out, I’d been trying to develop a way to keep my dreams from intruding on Emma’s and vice versa. I hadn’t gotten very far. No one in town, not even Sybille, seemed to know how to get the circle to work right. In theory, it should’ve worked. Once powered, the circle would keep me grounded in my own consciousness, but I could never get it to power, no matter what I did.
I stood. “Show me.”
Josiah sighed, got up and walked me into the bedroom, tossing back the rug Paula must’ve put down to try and cover the carving I’d done to the wood. Except now, instead of a single circle, several smaller circles now intersected the larger circle. A web of curved lines crisscrossed the interior of them all, bisecting triangles and strange three-dimensional shapes.
I whistled. “Looks complicated. Where’d you learn all this stuff?”
“You’d be amazed how well revenge motivates one to master an arcane art.”
I studied the grizzled mage standing next to me. Revenge, huh? Against who? And why? It wasn’t any of my business, and he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk. Still, it must’ve been someone scary if he’d gone on to specialize in exorcising demons.
Khaleda shifted on the bed and murmured something softly. She threw one arm to the side, pulling the trench coat open. I winced at the sight of all the bruises and cuts still healing.
Josiah opened the closet and got out another blanket, adjusting it over her. “She’ll be all right. Up in no time.”
“It’s my fault she’s like this. I was supposed to help her kill Morningstar before, except he jumped into the body of an innocent girl and I...” I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I couldn’t do it.”
“You know what’s wrong with you, mate?” He patted my shoulder and guided me back toward the kitchen. “You think too highly of yourself.”
“Says the narcissist.”
“I know what I am. I embrace it. You think you’re so important that she can’t possibly be responsible for her own bad luck?” He stopped off at the fridge for more beers and handed me one.
I still hadn’t finished the first, but I took it anyway, knowing I would in short order. “But I didn’t keep my end of the deal.”
“Bugger that.” He twisted the top off and leaned on the fridge. “She’s a big girl. She makes her own mistakes, and you’ve got more than enough sins to carry around. You don’t need hers too. She’s a right to her own bloody guilt. Let it be and see to your own.”
He was right. The plan had been Khaleda’s to begin with. If she hadn’t enlisted me, I’d have just fought through the tournament without ever taking on Morningstar. Emma might be alive. If I were in Khaleda’s place, I’d feel awful. It was hard to say if she cared that Emma was gone, but she did offer to help me. Khaleda liked to pretend she was tough and callous, but I’d seen through the cracks. She hated her father more than anything, except maybe herself.
Josiah yawned and stretched. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m buggered. Once I get this blood washed off, I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to the sofa.”
“I’ll take the chair. We’re old friends. You can take the sofa.”
He gave a longing look toward the bed before scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Fuck me. All right. You win.”
Josiah dragged himself over to the door where he’d abandoned that ugly leather bag he carried everywhere with him. He opened it and dug around, pulling out all kinds of things: books, a crucifix, a magic eight ball, a bottle of cologne...no way all that stuff fit in that bag.
“What the hell is that thing, a bag of holding?” I asked.
He lifted the plastic container where he’d put his tarantula earlier and gingerly placed it on the floor. “It’s a litradipo.”
“A what?”
He sighed, irritated. “A limited trans-reality dimensional portal. In short, litradipo.”
I inched closer and tried to peer over his shoulder, but I couldn’t without getting close enough to bump the spider’s box. “So, sort of like a TARDIS? Only much more boring?”
Josiah lifted a stick of chalk, closed the bag and stood, giving me a strange look. “Honestly, mate. Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?”
“Being such a fuckwit.” He broke the chalk in half and handed one half to me. “Help me get a circle up around the sofa, will you? I don’t sleep without one.”
Josiah wasn’t a patient teacher, and I screwed up enough times he eventually just took the chalk away from me. By the time he got his circle finished, he’d given up on the idea of a shower, and I was already well on my way to sleep in the familiar embrace of my armchair.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I flinched at the loud buzzing sound that announced a door opening to the cell block. Familiar white walls and blue bars surrounded the six by eight space. Two bunks with thin mattresses and paper-thin blankets stood to my right. If I’d turned around, I would’ve found a stainless-steel toilet in the corner.
My heart jumped into my throat. This was my cell. I was back inside. My worst nightmare was coming true.
Sobbing behind me made me spin around. Emma sat on the bottom bunk in a bright orange jumpsuit, crying into her hands. Someone I didn’t recognize sat with her, a teenage boy barely old enough to drive. He patted her back and wore a sympathetic face, but he wasn’t anyone I recognized.
“Don’t cry, Ms. Knight,” the boy offered. “Please don’t cry no more. He said he was comin’.”
“He’s not.” She wiped a sleeve over her face and shook her head. “It’s been too long. He’d be here if he was coming. It’s over.”
“Emma, I’m here.” I took a step forward, putting me in front of them, but neither looked at me, even when I waved my arms. They couldn’t see me.
“You know time is funny in here. I don’t know how long I been here, but I know better than to believe anything these demons say.” He gestured widely to the cell block beyond. “They’re liars. Monsters, every one of ’em. And I know a thing or two about monsters.”
“You were never a monster, Ruben. You just turned into one. I never should’ve killed you for it.”
So, that’s who he was. Emma had told me she’d shot a teenager who’d gone loup while I was i
n Faerie. She’d felt guilty about having to hide his body in the swamp, and I didn’t blame her. That was a lot of guilt to carry around, especially for someone who prided herself in upholding the law. He was the reason she hadn’t gone back to work, or rather guilt over what she’d done. Putting him in a cell with her in Hell was a torture all its own.
Ruben, the kid, smiled and patted her hand. “It’s all good. You had to save them kids. My monster would’ve killed them. You’re a good person, and you don’t deserve to be in here.”
Emma fixed her gaze straight ahead on me. No, not on me. Through me. “No, I do. I took a life, and I got away with it. Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t come for me.”
My stomach tied itself in knots and dropped to the floor. I wanted to reach out to her, put my arms around her and pull her close, but when I did, my hand passed through her as if I were a ghost. They couldn’t see me, and I couldn’t touch them.
Ruben didn’t offer her any more comfort. What more was there to say? I’d known guys to adopt the same attitude as Emma once they lost their last appeal. Nine times out of ten, the guy wound up on suicide watch in solitary for a few days. This was rock bottom, hopelessness. He’d broken her.
I had to do something, but how?
If this dream is going to treat me like a ghost, then let’s be a ghost. I closed my eyes and focused my will inward, funneling magic toward where I knew my soul was. I’d never used magic inside a dream before, but then this wasn’t a normal dream. The connection Emma and I shared thanks to the Kiss of Life created the situation so maybe I could do more with it than usual.
I pulled all my magic inward to my core. Come on, work!
Ruben let out a surprised curse and scrambled away from the bed to throw himself, wide-eyed, against the wall.
Emma stopped crying and stared. “Lazarus?”
I started to tell her not to give up, that I was still coming to bust her out, but I couldn’t hold the spell and speak at the same time. The magic faded and left me woozy. She’d seen me. I only hoped that’d be enough.
I was half-awake when I reached up to scratch an itch on my neck and brushed against something with legs. My eyes snapped open as the hairs on my arms stood on end. Every alarm bell in my brain triggered at once. Please don’t be a spider.
I turned my head and swallowed a panicked whimper. Of course, it was Josiah’s tarantula, Milly. She was sitting on my shoulder, looking out over the living room like we were pals. Meanwhile, I was about to have a coronary.
“Josiah.” I said it first as a whisper and then louder. The fourth time I said his name, Milly started crawling down my arm.
“What?” Josiah didn’t even open his eyes or lift his head from the sofa.
I couldn’t answer him. Milly had just dropped down and crawled inside my sleeve, tickling the underside of my arm. I closed my eyes tight and resisted the urge to freak out. “Your spider is in my shirt.”
“She’s just looking for a warm place. Leave her be, and she won’t bother you any.”
“Josiah, I swear to God, if you don’t get your damn spider off me right now, I’m going to have you haunted!”
“All right!” he exclaimed, sitting up. “Christ, scared of the itsy-bitsy spider. She’s less likely to bite you than a dog, you know. Beautiful, gentle creatures. Lift your shirt. There you are. Milly, you little troublemaker.”
He finally scooped the spider off my chest, and I let out a shaky breath while he petted the thing with a finger. “She’s drawn to magic, you know. It’s why she likes you.”
I shivered and stood to strip off my shirt, needing a shower now more than before. It didn’t look like she’d left any marks or anything. With fangs that size, I should’ve felt it if she bit me, but I still wanted to make sure. “So are cats. That’s what normal people have as familiars, Josiah. Cats, dogs, owls...”
“Milly here is more than a familiar. She’s a friend. A hungry friend.” He guided her onto his shoulder and went back to his bag, eventually drawing a larger plastic container out of it.
I didn’t want to sit and watch him feed his tarantula, so I went into the bathroom and got cleaned up. When I was done, I got out my cell phone and stared at the blank screen. Brigette had said there were only two more hells to get through before I got to She’ol, which meant I was almost done. It was time to deal with Emma’s body. It had to be whole before I put her soul back in it—if I could even do that. I was relying heavily on Josiah’s expertise for that. To prepare Emma’s body, I’d need to talk to two people, neither of which I was looking forward to speaking to.
First, there was Loki. I wasn’t sure how to get a message to him, but he’d said he had Valkyries keeping an eye on Remy, which meant I just had to find them. No problem. If I looked hard enough, they’d be stationed within spitting distance of the house in Algiers.
The other person was just a phone call away, and yet so far. I only knew one healer who could help: my college sweetheart, Beth Ryder. We hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. Fae had kidnapped her and forced her to assist with Remy’s birth. When she got out, she didn’t even say goodbye. We’d spoken only once since then, and she’d told me in no uncertain terms that she wanted out. Out of my life, out of my world, out of trouble. I’d agreed that was best. Yet here I was, ready to call her back in. She might not even come. If she didn’t, I didn’t have a backup plan.
I took a deep breath and dialed her number. The phone squealed, and a recorded message informed me that her number was no longer in service. Damn. I’d have to try to get in contact some other way.
A quick internet search brought up the contact information for her boss, Mr. Seb Feneque, also known as Qebehsenuef. He was an ancient Egyptian funerary deity, and I’d killed his three organ-thieving brothers not so long ago. He might not want to talk to me either, but he couldn’t not answer his office phone. Dr. Feneque was the curator of a traveling exhibit of Egyptian artifacts currently on display at the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. It was still before three there, so he should be in.
I punched in the number and waited.
The phone rang twice before a pleasant and familiar female voice answered, “Dr. Feneque’s office?”
Beth.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I could find another healer. Pony probably knew someone. There was bound to be someone local, right? They wouldn’t be as good as Beth, and I wouldn’t trust them not to mess things up just to milk me for more cash, but there had to be someone.
“Hello?” Beth’s voice jarred me from thought.
I didn’t need someone else. I needed her. “Hi, Beth.”
“What do you want?” She didn’t hang up right away. That was good, right?
“Please don’t hang up. I need your help.”
The phone clicked followed by a dial tone. Well, so much for that.
I sighed and leaned on the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. How did I get myself into these messes? When most guys said they had girl problems, they meant their girlfriend was pissed at them for coming in drunk, or cheating. Not me. I didn’t lie or cheat, and yet I had a whole string of women who’d sooner throw a drink in my face than pick up the phone. Well, two. Khaleda and Beth didn’t want anything to do with me. The other two were dead.
That memory still hurt too much, so I pushed it away and left the bathroom.
Josiah was stretched out on the sofa, smoking a cigarette, another open beer in front of him next to a mostly empty cup of black coffee. Breakfast of champions: cigarettes, coffee, and beer.
I went to the coffee maker and poured myself a cup. “No wonder you like pineapple on pizza. All those cigarettes have destroyed your sense of taste. They’ll kill you, you know.”
“They’ll have to get in line.” He stood, tucked one hand into his pocket. “So, what’s the plan today?”
“Find a healer. Contact Loki who’s holding Emma’s body for me. Check in on my daughter. I think the next location is an Irish pub in the Quarter. I didn’t catc
h the name though, so we’ll have to find it. Maman Brigette said the next two Hells wouldn’t be easy either. Some place called Irkalla and then the Nightlands. I was going to look them up.”
Josiah choked on his coffee. “The Nightlands?”
“Yeah.” I leaned against the fridge and sipped at mine. “You’ve heard of it?”
He put the coffee down, grabbed the beer and chugged half of it. “You won’t find anything about it online or in any books at the library. It’s not the type of place sane people write about.”
He knew something, something unsettling. The very mention of the place seemed to have shaken him. If Josiah was afraid of it, I knew I should be. “What do you know?”
“Nothing. Just stories. I read a translated Elamite text once that mentioned a place of absolute crushing darkness, the birthplace of primordial nightmares far beyond human understanding.”
“Elamite? What’s that?”
He shook his bottle, found it empty, and dropped his cigarette butt inside. “This place you’re going next, Irkalla? It’s Sumerian. The Elamites were a rival empire. It’s referenced by Daniel in the book of Ezekiel in the Bible and in some Sumerian, Assyrian and Babylonian writings, but it’s still mostly lost to history. You want to know about the Nightlands, ask in Irkalla.”
My phone rang. I expected it to be Beth calling me back. Maybe she’d changed her mind. The number flashing on the screen, however, was local. “Hello?”
“Is this Lazarus Kerrigan?” asked an unfamiliar voice.
“Who’s this?”
“I’m a social worker with Tulane Medical Center. You were listed as next of kin for a Mr. Durrant?”
Pony. A chill ran through me. There was only one reason a hospital social worker would be calling me.
I started for the door. “Is he okay? What happened?”
