“Forsaken? How so?”
“There is nothing here. I could walk the circumference of the planet and find only what we brought with us.”
“That’s the lure.” The chancellor puffed a bit with the stairs. “No jostling for a place to stand. No continuous rain.”
Satan jumped at the opening. “I heard there is no rain in the high buildings. Above the clouds.”
“Is that how you see yourself—part of the upper echelon?”
“I see myself visiting my home world.”
“Uh, no,” said the chancellor, looking discomfited. “It would not be proper, not with your temper. You are Lord of Wormwood. This is your home now.”
“Then it is true. I am banished. All for one incident.”
“No, no. Not exactly. Besides, you would not like it there, so crowded and dingy. Not bright and open like this.”
They entered the antechamber where Satan’s attendants groveled and fawned.
“Bring vitriol wine,” Satan barked, his good humor strained.
Chancellor Adramelech stepped into the drawing room, striding to the open window. “Such a view.”
Satan joined him, not trusting himself to speak. He looked at clouds of flaming plasma, at harpies soaring through the haze. He saw Abaddon, king of the centaurs who guarded the grounds. And he saw the molten lake, which was Wormwood’s most famous feature.
“There.” The chancellor pointed out the window. “Prophecy tells us the deity will rise from the flames of that lake to change how we see ourselves forever.”
“But it doesn’t say when,” Satan murmured.
“Which is to your advantage. For in the end, it doesn’t matter what you believe or what I believe, but what the populace believes and those with the wherewithal to pay for a pilgrimage here.”
“My lord,” said a quavering voice. “A patron wishes to see you.”
“Of course.” Satan turned toward the door.
A tall figure strode into the room. His steps clip-clopped over the stone floor. Must have had a manicure, Satan thought enviously, suddenly aware of his own scuffed and encrusted hooves.
“Gorson, my dear nephew.” The chancellor stepped to greet him. “And here is little Drekavac.”
A child peered into the room. He appeared frail and malnourished, his head overlarge. Satan would not believe him old enough to come of age. As he watched him, he noticed a birthmark high on his head—like an hourglass between his budding horns.
He bowed to the child and his father. “Welcome to Wormwood. Your wish is my goal.”
“Lord Satan,” Gorson said, “your efforts to maintain this whimsical theme is admirable. This place is pure fantasy.”
“Will you share my wine?” Satan led them deeper into the room where one of his skulking attendants filled four goblets. “Send for Marbas and our gift.”
He drank half his wine and refilled before the others joined him. From a throne-like chair, he stared at the newling. The child circled the room, making annoying noises in the back of his throat. Satan did not like working with children. He did not understand them.
However, he did like the look of the hourglass birthmark. He wondered if he should get a tattoo.
The chancellor and his nephew sat together against the wall, both watching Drekavac.
Gorson gulped his wine, sloshing it down his chin. “I understand it is customary for newlings who are coming of age to go alone into the wilderness. I am uncomfortable with that arrangement.”
“Tut, tut,” said the chancellor. “What ill could befall him?”
“The idea, of course, is to release the newling into life,” Satan said. “But they do not need to go unsupervised. I will assign two companions to accompany young Drekavac. Will that please you?”
“Most satisfactory,” said Gorson. “If there is time for them to properly bond.”
Commotion at the door drew Satan’s attention. Chief Executor Marbas came in carrying the gift intended for the newling. The subject squirmed and kicked, putting on a fine show.
“No,” it cried in a high-pitched squeal. “Let me go! I want to go home.”
“Put it there,” Satan said, motioning. Leaning forward, he said to Drekavac, “I have procured for you a little plaything.”
Drekavac frowned, approaching it warily.
To its credit, the subject did not run. It stood there, panting, showing every delectable rib. Fear radiated from it like a halo. But there was something more. Indignation? Satan smiled.
“What do I do with it?” asked Drekavac.
“Anything you want,” said his father.
“It depends on what you wish to feel,” the chancellor said. “If you want to know terror, you brutalize it. If you want trepidation, you hold back. There are any number of emotions you can experience through a good subject.”
“Does it feel pain?” asked Drekavac.
“It is an animal,” his father said. “It doesn’t exactly—”
“Yes,” said Satan. “It feels pain. The sensation can be most delicious if done right.”
Drekavac nodded. He stepped to the subject, nearly touching it, breathing deeply of its sweet perfume. They were nearly the same height, Satan noticed. A good match.
“Does it die?” Drekavac asked.
“No,” said Satan.
He pulled away. “Pity. I would like to know how it feels to die.”
As if understanding him, the subject looked him square in the face. “You wait until my mother comes,” April said, her bottom lip trembling. “You’ll all be sorry.”
Drekavac recoiled.
But Satan, who was the only person in the room wearing a translator, laughed. “Your mother is not coming. No one is coming for you.”
April glared at him. Her aura of fear turned dark.
“What is wrong with it?” cried the chancellor. “Has it been broken?”
“Not broken enough, it would seem.” Satan called to his executor who appeared instantly. “Confine this one in the tower until nightfall. And bring us something fresh.”
Drekavac again made muted howling noises. Satan wanted to throttle him.
“This does not bode well.” Gorson set down his goblet.
The chancellor shrugged. “Well, subjects do occasionally go bad.”
“I wanted everything to be perfect—my little newling becoming an adult during such an auspicious era.”
Satan downed his wine. He wondered if he should have arranged the deity’s arrival to coincide with dear Drekavac’s celebration.
“Now, that’s more like it,” the chancellor crooned as another subject was carried into the room.
This one was an adult female who cowered on the floor, screaming. Its terror was so palatable, even the chancellor and his nephew were enticed from their thrones to take a nip.
Satan refilled his goblet and leaned back, fingering the crystal pendant on his necklace. He watched the three patricians pass the female around, skillfully keeping it on the brink of fainting. Perhaps this would make up for the fiasco of his gift.
He smiled, thinking of the girl expecting her mother to save her. Where do they get such fantastic ideas?
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Denise Rothschild?” Emily offered her hand to the pert blonde in a red parka. “I’m Emily Goodman.”
“It’s amazing to meet you,” Denise said. “I’ve seen all your shows.”
She bounced on the balls of her feet. Emily couldn’t tell if it was out of excitement or because she was cold.
The girl with Denise frowned. “You don’t look like you do on TV. You’re old and beat up.”
“I must look a fright. I’ve been working the field. You know. No rest for the weary.” Emily managed a chuckle. Sleet stung her cheeks and pelted her hood. “Can we go somewhere warm? I’m not used to New Hampshire weather.”
“Yeah. Winter’s come early this year.” Denise grinned.
Her friend didn’t move. “If you’ve been in the field, where’s your
photographer?”
“He’s finishing up another assignment.” Emily narrowed her eyes. “I came ahead to see if you’re worth a story.”
“Come on, Lenora,” Denise said cajolingly. “Let’s talk inside.”
With a flip of her dark hair, Lenora led them up the snowy walk. Emily wondered who was the leader of the coven—Lenora or Denise, as she’d been told. She entered Fran’s Donut Shop.
Heat smacked her in the face. The girls slipped off their parkas and hung them on the backs of their chairs. Not wanting to show off her homemade tunic, Emily kept her coat on. She maneuvered her arrow case between the table and the wall and took a seat. The shop was crowded with empty tables and bistro-type chairs. Windows looked out upon Haverhill Road. A list of donuts and cakes covered the opposite wall.
Denise called to a boy behind the counter. “I’ll have coffee and a cruller.”
“Same,” said Lenora.
Feeling rushed, Emily stammered, “Just c-coffee for m-me.”
Lenora cocked her brow. “Nervous?”
“Freezing,” Emily said, although her leather attire kept her comfortable. She addressed Denise. “You’re the head of the Cowbell coven?”
“Yes.” Denise beamed. “But only until the end of the year. We rotate.”
“How did you hear of us?” asked Lenora.
Emily shrugged. “I go where my producer says, so technically he found you, not me. I read your article in the Cowbell Oracle, though. Nice publicity.”
“That was my idea,” Denise said. “Trying to get a little notice. Everyone fusses over Salem—”
“But you’ve got more going for you than Salem.” Emily smiled. “Tell me about the Devil’s Eye.”
“Coffee’s up,” called the boy from the counter.
“Be right back.” Denise hopped from the table and returned holding three coffees in a steaming triangle. She went back for the crullers.
Emily emptied a packet of sugar into her cup. She sensed Lenora staring. “Why did you agree to this interview if you don’t trust me?”
“I didn’t agree. I don’t think we need to expand our member list or collect dues like some social club. It’s enough to have the devil’s protection.”
“Is that what he does? Protect you?”
Lenora’s eyes flashed. “He will strike down any who harm us.”
“Good thing I’m not here to cause you harm.”
Denise returned to the table, setting down the donuts. “Here we go. And I even remembered the napkins.”
Lenora ignored her, still glaring at Emily. “How do we know you are who you say you are?”
“Don’t be silly,” Denise said as she sat. “Look at her.”
Emily pulled her backpack onto her lap and fished around for her wallet. She handed her credentials to Lenora. “Now tell me how the devil protects you.”
“He brings us luck,” Denise said. “Like when I tried out for cheerleading, the girl who beat me broke her leg. And once Lenora went into the woods with a drifter. He was up to no good for sure, probably would have killed her. But the Eye appeared and scared him away. No one’s seen him around here since.”
“Is that what happened, Lenora?” Emily asked. “He got scared?”
“What do you think?”
“I think maybe the devil pulled him inside.”
“You can’t go inside,” Denise said around a mouthful of cruller. “It’s like you’re looking into a pool of water and can just make out his reflection.”
“I’d like to see the Eye,” Emily said.
“You would?” said Denise.
“No!” said Lenora.
Emily stared at her. “I just came from a town in Florida. They have something that looks very much like your Devil’s Eye.”
“They let you see it?” Lenora cried.
“Yes, they did. Now, if your phenomenon matches theirs, I will call the camera crew in here and put you all on TV. But if you can’t show me—”
“Of course we’ll show you,” Denise said.
“It’s not that simple,” said Lenora. “We need at least four other people, and who wants to stand out there in this weather? And we need a rabbit.”
“We’ll use one of Lucifer’s babies. No problem.” Denise shrugged. “I’m trying to breed them. I’ve got one male and five females. Poor Lucifer’s so tired all the time.”
“That stringy old hare. We ought to use him.”
“No, not my Lucifer. He’s my mister cuddlekins.”
“All right,” Emily cut in. “You have a baby rabbit. Let’s do it.”
“We have to wait for dark,” Denise said.
“Why dark?”
“So no one will bother us. Besides, that’s when Linda gets home. She works at the Stop and Shop.”
* * * *
The night was cold. The forest was black. Emily rode in the passenger seat of Lenora’s car, barely noticing the blaring music. She wore her gear beneath her coat—the bow and arrows, the knife, the heavy leather armguard and archery glove. Determination turned her heart as hard as the frozen road they traveled. She was ready.
Their headlights illuminated banked snow and then ruts from the other cars parked along the side. Despite Lenora’s gripes, the coven had a good turnout—at least a dozen girls looked up, their faces stark in the flash of light. They wore white robes over their coats.
As Emily got out of the car, Denise strode toward her, calling, “Everyone, this is Emily Goodman from TV. Emily, this is everyone. Well, not quite. A few couldn’t make it.”
Emily nodded in greeting. “This is a young coven.”
“Actually the coven is quite old,” said one of the girls. “My mother was in it, and my grandmother.”
“And my aunt,” said another.
“Why aren’t they here?” Emily asked.
“Gone,” said Denise. “Left town, mostly. My mom’s still around, but she won’t join in anymore.”
“Does she offer advice?”
“Yeah.” Denise laughed. “Her favorite saying. Be careful what you do because there’s always a price.”
Lenora slammed the trunk of her car. She now wore a hooded white robe and carried a fat candle. “Is the ground sanctified?”
Denise nodded. “We better get started. Bunny will freeze to death before we get a chance to kill him.” She held out a hand, showing a tiny rabbit cupped in her palm. “Emily, since you’re the observer, you stay in back. You can take Susie’s spot.”
“Susan never shows anymore,” Lenora muttered. She held out her candle to a girl who was lighting them with a wooden fireplace match.
Hoods over their faces, the girls formed a line, walking into the woods. They chanted words Emily couldn’t understand. She took the last place, garbed in black against their white, walking in the footprints of those before her, afraid that if she did anything to stand out, the Eye wouldn’t open.
The procession wound through the trees. Silent and still, the forest seemed to be waiting for them. Emily felt electrified. Her nerves were on edge. She repeated Chastity’s words like a mantra—keep your eyes closed, your arms tucked in tight…
The line of girls spread out around a pentagram that had been tramped in the snow. Denise knelt in the center holding the rabbit. Lenora and four other girls stood at the points of the pentagram, their candles outstretched. The rest of the girls, Emily included, formed a circle around them.
The chanting increased. Emily’s heartbeat rose in rhythm. She glanced about, wondering where the Eye would appear.
Denise held up a gleaming knife, and then gutted the baby rabbit. Blood sprayed remarkably red. The chant stopped.
Emily panted, her breath forming a cloud before her. She looked around at the unmoving figures. Then she noticed a glimmer on the trunk of a tree outside the circle. The glimmer grew to a vertical pool of rippling water then solidified into ice, reflecting the candlelight. Like a mirror.
This was her chance. She had to get to it before the devil
appeared, had to hope the portal dropped her on the plains outside the castle. Emily lurched forward as if her feet were mired in the frozen earth. She picked up speed, sprinting across the clearing, knocking one of the coven members out of her way.
Denise screamed. “Don’t go out of the circle!”
Like a gaping orifice, the Mirror opened. A swirl of red appeared upon its glimmering surface. Running wildly, unable to stop if she wanted to, she barreled toward the tree and dove inside.
TWENTY-NINE
Emily hurtled down hell’s gullet. Light exploded with the force of a nuclear bomb. Through closed eyes, she saw flames. She smelled flesh burning, hair singeing. She imagined her limbs incinerating into ash, imagined her eyeballs bursting.
The blistering wind peeled back her lips. She clamped her jaws against it, feeling an unvoiced scream rip her throat. Writhing and contorting in endless agony, she fell through the bowels of the underworld.
Her feet struck solid ground, and she stumbled to one knee. For a moment, she knelt, trembling—then she did a mental inventory. Were her toes still there? Her hands? Was she alive?
As she came to herself, rage infused her. That was what her daughter had been forced to endure. Emily would make them pay. She would kill every demon she found and make a mountain of their corpses.
Emily straightened slowly. Her coat crackled. Steam rose from the sleeves. The air was hot, so hot it hurt her nose to breathe. The wind wailed, sounding like people weeping. It stank of sulfur and rotting meat.
She stood on a plateau of red stone, flat but for a few boulders. Fissures spewed noxious, green smoke. Crimson clouds lowered the sky, and a brownish haze hid the horizon. She saw no hounds, no denizens of hell.
And no castle.
Emily cried out, spinning in place. She was in the middle of nowhere. She’d fallen out of the portal too soon. What should she do? Pick a direction at random and start walking? She might never find April. With trembling fingers, she covered her nose and mouth and took a few shallow breaths. She had to calm down, had to think clearly. After all, she should be happy with herself. She’d taken the first step. She survived the transition and arrived unscathed.
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