by Adams, Lori
He’s surprised by my question, and gives it some thought. “Well, I suppose it means the same thing below as it means on the surface. It is reminiscent of those glory days of ancient times—strangely enough, earthly traditions are highly coveted in Hell. But because no one is born to a title, the titles must be earned by deeds and obedience. The more earned, the higher one advances up the royal chain of nobility. I became one of the Chosen or a Demon Knight because I displayed unique abilities that The Order found useful.”
“What kind of abilities?”
He purses his lips, considering. “My family had thought it was stubbornness, but The Order called it resilience. I could withstand anything The Order did to me. I had unwavering patience and tolerance. In short, I was unbreakable.” He smiles at me, and I believe him. After all, he has searched for the lost soul of his lover for ages.
“So what happens in this Royal Court? Do you have a king and queen? Ceremonies and stuff?”
He laughs warmly. “It’s indescribably boring to me but it does pass the time, I suppose. Yes, there is a king and queen of Hell, and I am sure they will adore you as I do.”
He rambles on but I’ve stopped listening, paralyzed by his casual reference to me being in Hell. A chill creeps up my spine and I’m reminded of the seriousness of what I’m doing. At some point, Dante will discover I have lied, that I have no intention of reviving any past life memories—if they really exist. He’ll be furious and I don’t know what it will lead him to do. Hopefully, when that time comes, I’ll already be a spirit walker and out of his reach.
Good Lord, but there is an awful lot riding on hope.
Dante laughs at some story he’s been telling and I tune back in. He’s talking about the different kingdoms in Hell, and how each kingdom has its own Royal Court and noble demonic lineage. He is part of the Royal Court of Bastards, and finds it appropriately fitting.
“Although I was not a true bastard when I was alive, I always felt as though I was sired by one.” He smiles at some private joke but of course I don’t get it.
I throw out a question and pretend I’ve been listening and not stewing in fear. “Oh, and so what does everybody do all day?”
He gives me a dubious look. “You mean apart from reaping souls?”
Oh, crap.
“Um, yeah. Besides that.”
“They plan wars against other kingdoms, devise ways to kill angels, perfect their weapons against demon hunters, work on new techniques for possessing Forgiven souls. You know, the usual.” He sounds far too casual for my taste.
“That does sound boring,” I murmur.
“Oh, but of course there are festivals, ceremonies, the Demonic Games … Remember, I said Hell is steeped in tradition. There is a deliberate mirror effect of life below to life on the surface. Of course, Hell is behind the times in most regards. Only recently have I discovered they’re making technological strides regarding surveillance. In the old days, we could return to Hell through any chosen gate. Now it seems that you and I must reenter through gate five because that is the gate I left from.”
I feel my jaw slack and my joints loosen. My head is swimming because all the blood has drained into my toes. An odd mewling sound escapes me, and Dante quickly looks over.
“Sophia?” He leans forward, tapping my cheek. “What is it? Are you ill?” I touch my forehead; it’s ice cold and I think I’m going to be sick. I can’t handle any more talk of Hell and what my life will be like there. Dante unbuckles my seat belt and scoops me onto his lap. I feel pliable and tired. Bailey asks what’s wrong, as Dante rubs my arms.
“She is feeling faint. When did she last eat?”
Bailey unwinds herself from Vaughn and peers closer at me. “Uh, I’m not sure. Think she had a bag of Cheetos about an hour ago. No wait, that was me.”
“I’m okay,” I murmur. I don’t want to be sitting in Dante’s lap but his body heat is actually helping. My blood is moving again, churning in my stomach and pounding through my veins. I try to return to my seat but he holds on.
“Stay with me, cara,” he whispers. “Relax in my arms. We will be there soon.”
I ease back and let his body heat warm me. I do feel better. I’ll take Dante’s help, if only to regain my strength. The last thing I want to do is walk into a den of demons light-headed and lethargic.
Bailey has returned her attention to Vaughn, and they’re back at it. The music has changed to something soft, instrumental, and classically cool. I stare out the window, seeing that we have left Connecticut and have entered New York. I ask Dante where we’re going, and he snuggles his lips against my ear. He sounds sedated when he says, “Manhattan, I believe.”
I turn in his arms and look at him. His eyes are hooded as he stares at my mouth. He wants to kiss me but I want answers.
“Dante, will you tell me about her? About Lovaria?”
His eyes flick to mine. He hesitates, considering. “No, Sophia. I believe I will let you tell me about her. That is what we are after this evening, is it not?” There is a challenge in his question, and I worry that he knows my secret.
“Yes,” I answer abruptly. I can’t look him in the eye so he snuggles against my cheek.
“When your memories return, I know you will be angry that I did not force this sooner. But be gentle with me, cara.” He chuckles. “And remember that I have kept my promise to you. I never gave up; I never stopped searching for you. Just as you asked.”
* * *
It’s well over an hour later when Degan finally pulls up to a curb and cuts the engine. We slide out and stand on the sidewalk at Pelham Bay Park. Bailey and I shiver and huddle close. Santiago explains that he and Degan will stay behind and wait; we are told to take the 6 train south. Several minutes later, I’m off on my first subway ride.
Aside from the funky smell, it’s not too bad. I’m mostly amused that Dante seems so out of place riding a subway. He claims to abhor modern conveniences, but I’ve noticed that he has exceptional taste for the finer things in life. Over his fine Italian clothes, he is wearing a black leather coat that is as soft as silk and comes down to his knees. He’s sitting upright with an aristocrat air, which is strange considering he’s been living in Hell for … well, I don’t know for how long.
The other passengers are ignoring us altogether, and Bailey has resumed her position on Vaughn’s lap and is whispering—God knows what. I lower my voice and lean toward Dante. “Will you at least tell me how long you’ve been in Hell? How long you’ve been a Demon Knight?”
“I’ll give nothing away, only that I was below for quite some time before being knighted. Like everyone else, I had to earn my station.”
“But what were you like before you died?”
“Sophia, as much as I would love to reminisce with you, I’ll refrain. Not with the conversation being so one-sided. Besides, you are not asking me anything you don’t already know.”
I mull this over, thinking back to October when Michael’s family first explained who and what Dante really was. Katarina said Dante was born human but had committed suicide. I look up at Dante now, trying to imagine what would drive him to take his own life.
Our conversation isn’t as one-sided as he thinks, and I want to keep my own secrets, so I pretend ignorance. “Will you at least tell me how you died?”
He slowly turns and looks at me. His face is grave and his eyes have lost their shine. “That is a memory we will discuss at length … when the time comes.”
Oh God, what does that mean?
I ask Dante to explain but he looks away, disappointed. The train jerks, and we begin to slow down. An announcement is made over the speakers. We are approaching the last downtown stop, Brooklyn Bridge—City Hall. I ask Dante if we have to transfer. He seems to be sulking and just shakes his head. I slump and cross my legs, and then uncross them. I’m getting antsy. I didn’t like our cryptic conversation, and now all I can think about is how Dante died and why I—the past-life me—should know the details.
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The train stops and the doors open. I start to rise but Dante holds my arm. We’re not leaving. I look across the aisle at Bailey and she shrugs. Vaughn won’t let her up either, so we sit back and watch the passengers shuffle out. The doors close and the train takes off again. We are the only ones left. Dante and Vaughn are staring at each other, and I get the feeling something is about to happen.
We ride on in silence as the train eases into a curve. I look ahead. Nothing to see but empty seats, overhead lights, and the number 6 illuminated in the station-stop panels up against the ceiling. Then the train begins to shudder and the lights flicker. Everything goes black. I hear Bailey gasp, and I reach for Dante’s hand. He squeezes mine and looks at me, his eyes glowing green in the dark. They crinkle as he smiles, and I don’t feel quite so scared.
The lights flicker and hiss, eventually blinking back on. Now Bailey and I both gasp. We’re no longer alone. Two people have appeared out of nowhere. A guy and a girl are sitting at the front. The guy is wearing a long dark coat down to his feet. He looks appropriately sinister, like the lesser demons prowling Haven Hurst. The girl is about my age, in a scanty dress and without a coat. She is pale and stoic. A black manacle is clamped around her throat with a chain that leads to her companion’s hand. The guy’s eyes are solid black and looking at us with keen interest.
Fear tears through me so I yank on Dante’s coat. He puts a finger to his lips and we don’t say a thing. I sit back, wringing my hands. When I can’t stand another minute, I peer around Dante again. The lesser demon is looking ahead, and I notice that the number 6 in the illuminated panel now reads 666.
The train jolts and sparks fly across the windows. We have entered a large loop of sorts and gradually roll to a stop. The car shimmies just as the doors are flung open. Dante and Vaughn stand up, so Bailey and I do, too. Dante takes my hand, but we wait while the lesser demon tugs the girl out by her chain. When we step outside, I realize this is not an active station. We have stopped in the middle of nowhere—a dark cavern that looks abandoned.
The doors slam shut and the train lurches forward, leaving us in a dim light. The lesser demon takes off with the girl like he’s walking a dog. We follow at a slower pace.
Since this is my first subway experience, I don’t know what to think but I suspect that what I’m seeing is not the norm. The deserted platform has an antique quality, as though we have stepped back in time. Stunning tile artwork woven into patterns of browns and golds run up and around the barreled ceilings. Further on, the Romanesque revival arches are glorious and punctuated with stained glass windows. They must be blue during the day, but now they shine black by way of quivering light from brass chandeliers. It’s wholly unexpected, and Bailey and I meander and stare up with our mouths open. She says it’s like a mini Grand Central Terminal, and I take her word for it.
Dante and Vaughn guide us farther into the subway tunnel. Lighting the way are elaborate brass sconces burning along the decorative tile walls. We follow an intricate cobblestoned walkway that eventually brings us to a hole in the ground. We have found the entrance to a spiraling staircase. There is no option but down.
Vaughn goes first. Then Bailey, me, and Dante. Around and around, it’s not too bad but for the rustling chains echoing off the walls. I suspect the lesser demon and the girl are not too far ahead of us.
We reach the lower level and stop to peer around. Now I’m reminded of where we really are, deep in the underbelly of New York. The tunnels are squared, gray corrugated concrete. Only the brass sconces look familiar. We stroll on to a hellish display of urban artwork along the walls: giant rats with hollow eyes, a morbid blue skull with huge black antlers. We reach the end to find a warning across the back wall that Dante says is written in chalk made of ground bones: WE OWN THE NIGHT.
“Do not take this lightly,” he advises. “Whatever lies beyond that door, most assuredly, owns the night.” We turn and look at a brown door where the lesser demon and the chained girl wait to be admitted. “Bailey, do not leave Vaughn’s side unless instructed to do so. Is that understood? Good. And Sophia …” He takes my hand. “We will not part without my permission. Yes?”
“Uh-huh,” I say, my eyes wide and glued on the brown door. Music pounds behind it and matches the erratic beating in my chest. I’m trembling and hoping I haven’t gotten us into something horrific.
The door doesn’t open but a decrepit old man with dead white eyes seems to peel himself from it and stand guard. He is brown, tall, and so aged that his skin appears dried and crackled. He wears the ancient brown frock of a monk or friar, or something. His bald head is so thick with bulging veins, it gives the impression that his brain is exposed. I swallow hard and feel my stomach churn.
The old man scrutinizes the girl while talking quietly to her captor. Then he takes her as some sort of payment, stuffing her through a side entrance. Once satisfied, he opens the main door, allowing the lesser demon inside.
I dig my nails into Dante’s hand, horrified at what I think I’ve witnessed. Human payment to enter a private demon club.
Dante doesn’t look at me but lifts his chin up, contemplating. Vaughn asks, “You got this?” and Dante pulls me forward. He moves in hard, purposeful strides; a man of authority. I’m in awe. I’m also practically dragging my feet. I realize how much faith I’m putting in Dante. He could use this to his benefit in ways I can’t imagine. I worry that I’ve misjudged something. I wonder if we should turn back.
I glance at Bailey. She smiles tentatively but seems eager to see what’s inside. Always the curious little thing.
We stop before the door, and the old man turns, giving us his full attention. I catch my breath. The guy is not only old but petrified. As in made of freaking wood. Those bulging veins on his head are gnarled roots trying to poke through. He is lopsided and slightly grotesque. His eyes are deep hollows and shrouded with gray weeds for eyebrows. Thin, cracked lips curl back to expose a jumbled mass of rotten teeth like gravestones. I wait for him to speak but he doesn’t. I’m afraid he expects Dante to offer me or Bailey as payment to enter.
I look up at Dante. His eyes are turning yellow and splitting into black diamonds; snake eyes. I’m gripped with panic. The last time I saw Dante bring his demon all the way to the surface was in the haunted mansion, right after Michael threw him across the room.
Persuasion slowly dilates Dante’s eyes like a visual calling card, and the old man flinches in recognition.
“My apology, sir,” he says in a deep, brittle voice. He is noticeably uncomfortable, and I hope this isn’t a bad thing. He bows stiffly “I did not … it is an honor to have a Demon Knight”—he glances erratically at Vaughn—“er, two Demon Knights, with us this evening. If I had only … well … I should’ve expected … it’s always a special occasion when Baron Samedi and his wife perform.”
“Your name,” Dante demands.
“I am PaPa Bois.”
Dante nods. “We will require an escort this evening.”
“But of course. Anything you ask. Right this way.” He swings the door open, giving us free access.
I take a deep breath and then step inside the private demon nightclub.
Chapter 19
Not for the Folks at Home
We enter the vestibule of La Croix where our escort, a demon named Kappas, greets us with a reverent bow. Kappas looks like he has walked straight from the rice paddies in southeast Asia. His conical hat, thin shirt, and short pants are forever dripping wet. He has webbed hands and feet, and smells of fish. His almond-shaped eyes are filled with water and float like buoys.
“Welcome, La Croix,” he says, bowing again. “Apologies, please, but no weapons.” He pulls a couple of repulsive tarantula-like spiders from his pockets and tosses them onto Vaughn’s shoulders. As Bailey and I recoil in fear, the spiders clack up and down Vaughn, checking him for weapons. They find something in his front pocket and emit a high squeal. It’s ear piercing and makes us flinch.
Vau
ghn whips out his knife and tosses it to Kappas. “I’m gonna need that back, and soon.” He grins and winks at Bailey. She blushes.
The spiders leap onto Dante and repeat the process. He is weapon free. Nobody seems bothered by this arachnid-pat-down, but Bail and I are not having it. We back away and shake our heads.
“They have no weapons,” Dante says, indicating that he won’t allow us to be searched.
Kappas bows in understanding. “If please.” He indicates that we are to open our coats and we do. Nothing to hide, and he is satisfied. “Very good. This way, if please,” Kappas throws open the doors to the private entrance, and we are immersed in a wild concoction of music, blazing fires, and writhing bodies. I’m startled by the chaos around us and grip Dante’s hand. He seems hardened to the hedonistic display, but I take it all in with a wide, nauseated gaze.
La Croix is everything I’d imagined and worse: dark, smoky, teeming with all manner of exotic demons. I feel like we’ve stepped into Hell’s basement. It’s a deep cave that appears to have been hollowed out by giant claws that carved rock into gray walls. We’re standing on the metal balcony that runs in a circle around the cavern with a view of the pit below. The barrel ceiling is close and oppressive just above our heads and lacks the old-world charm of the 666 platform. Torches blaze in iron sconces and cast the room in a smoky red haze. Black iron cages hang throughout the room, packed with half-naked people. Their thin arms and legs reach through the bars, while their screams are drowned out by the music. Between the cages are long silk tethers of yellow or red or green, and some concoctions of man and ape swing up and down in Cirque du Soleil fashion. The creatures are naked but painted with neon colors, wild eclectic patterns that glow in the dim light. If a creature should slip in his acrobatic routine, the silk noose around his neck will catch his fall.
