Emily thought of Gun and his relentless harpy. “It was probably assigned to you.” Picking up her daughter, reveling in the feel of her, she gazed at the frozen vista.
Her plan had been to escape the castle through the tunnels and hide in the wastelands. She hadn’t expected hell to freeze over. How could she protect her daughter against such brutal conditions? How long did night last?
Movement caught her eye. Emily turned to see one of the super demons step out of the castle onto the battlement. He carried a pitchfork. She felt the blood drain from her face. With her eyes on the demon, she set April on the floor.
She approached the window. A harpy nest covered the sill, blocking her shot. It consisted of bones and feathers cemented with dung. Despite the weight, she hauled it out of her way. Several eggs fell as the nest landed on the floor.
Emily aimed out the window, trying to gauge the wind’s velocity. She shot. The gale caught the arrow. It flew sideways over the turret and disappeared.
She tried again. This time, the arrow flew true. It struck the fiend in the throat. He grasped his neck, looking up at her. Staggering backward, he toppled over the side of the battlement, out of sight.
Emily let out her breath, collapsing against the window ledge. She didn’t think the arrow would have killed him, but the fall certainly would. She gave her daughter’s shoulder a squeeze.
The castle door opened. Two more demons stepped out.
Emily tensed. She shot again. One arrow glanced harmlessly off a chest. The other buried itself in a thigh. She reached for her final arrow, but it was no use. Three more demons appeared on the parapet.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“Come on,” April cried. “Block the hole.” She tugged the cage as if she would drag it to the stairwell herself.
Emily marveled at her little girl’s bravery. She shouldered her bow, and then leapt to the top of the bell-shaped cage. As it was already leaning on the harpy’s body, it tipped readily. She and April rolled it over the opening in the floor.
On hands and knees, Emily gathered the fallen eggs. They were roughly the size and shape of footballs and as hard as granite. One felt hot, and she recoiled, imagining the abomination growing inside.
She threw that one first, hurling it as hard as she could at the oncoming guards. There were at least a dozen of them lined up in a row along the battlement, pitchforks over their shoulders. Even under her attack, they didn’t run. They stared at the tower as if stymied.
She threw another, and another, arching her back and slinging them with both hands. Behind her, April pulled down the rest of the nests, searching for more eggs. She rolled them to Emily across the floor.
The barrage did not deter the demons. They climbed up the stairs and appeared at the mouth of the stairwell, reaching through the hole, trying to push the cage out of their way.
April yelled. Emily threw her weight onto the cage, trying to hold it in place.
“April,” she said, “I need you to find the wand.”
She crawled over the floor. “Here!” She held it out. “I have it.”
Emily jammed the wand into a demon’s eye. He screamed. Lightning danced across his teeth. He fell away.
Two more guards took his place. They picked up the cage in the tines of their forks and tossed it.
Emily fell to the floor, but bounded up again, her wand ready. Hell-spawn swarmed through the hole. She jabbed at the nearest face. The fiend caught her wrist in his hand, twisting until she dropped the weapon. His other hand went around her throat. She gasped, clawing at the thick fingers, kicking as her feet left the floor.
April screamed. Emily fought, trying to look around, trying to see what was happening to her child. All she could see was shadows and horns.
April. Her little girl. She failed her. She failed them both.
The demon dragged her down the stairwell. It seemed to be a deep, dark hole. Emily thought it would never end.
FIFTY-ONE
Emily spent what felt like the next few hours slung over a demon’s shoulder in a long and painful trek through the castle. Behind her, she watched April’s legs bounce as she was conveyed in the same manner. Disappointment filled her, even more crushing than fear for her own wellbeing. She’d come so close. But the devil won.
At last, Emily was dumped onto the floor. She glanced about. She was in the main orgy room. Hell-spawn crowded around her. Too many to count. Horror constricted her throat, but she refused to scream. Her fear would not be used for entertainment.
She scrambled to her feet. “April?”
“Mommy?”
A super demon stood inside the encircling throng, holding April by the back of her neck. She looked terrified. Emily wanted to comfort her, to tell her everything would be all right—but the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t see how they would escape this fiasco.
Despair broke over her. She had failed. After everything she’d done, after everything she’d been through, she couldn’t save her little girl. Visions assaulted her mind’s eye. She saw the many rooms she passed while skulking through the castle—rooms of fire and boiling oil, rooms where the victims were drawn and then hung with their own intestines. Would they put April in one of those rooms? Her precious child.
No! She wouldn’t let them. She wouldn’t give up. There had to be some way out of this mess.
She gave April a reassuring nod. She considered hugging her. But all attention was focused on Emily, not on her daughter, and she’d rather keep it that way.
In fact, not only were the demons staring at Emily, they did so from a respectful distance. Only the guard who carried her down from the tower had laid hands on her. Further, they appeared drunk, leaning upon one another for support.
The dungeon. People still cried for her help from the dungeon beneath them. Their aura of hope, although faded, affected many of the hell-spawn before her.
Could she use that? Could she somehow increase the level of hope so she and April could escape? Perhaps if the prisoners knew she was there…
In as loud a voice as she could muster, Emily shouted, “Who is in charge here?”
There came an answering voice. The mob shuffled back, creating a sort of arena in the center of the room. Emily saw a large, golden throne. Upon it sat the devil with the necklace. The devil who’d taken April.
Emily’s lip curled. “You.”
He smiled, showing sharp, needle-like teeth. A smaller demon approached the throne, head bowed and murmuring, presenting him with Emily’s bow and quiver. The devil accepted her possessions and dismissed him with a nod.
He opened his arms in an expansive gesture, and said in his dual voice, “I am Satan. Welcome to Wormwood, my amusement park, a playground for the meek and lost.”
Emily remembered the last time she saw him—he’d ripped the tongue out of one man’s throat and stuffed it down another’s. Her legs quaked and her stomach roiled—but she would not be cowed. She would be brave for her little girl.
“Is that how you see yourselves?” she said. “Meek?”
“We are. Now.” He crossed his legs in a revoltingly human manner. “We were once an aggressive race. Proud and strong. But in our zest for war, we nearly obliterated ourselves. Emotions became outlawed.” He leaned forward. “We bred them out.”
“But not out of you.”
“I’m special.” He grinned. “Much like you. My countrymen are convinced you are the deity, bringing retribution to the wicked and rapture to the worthy.”
Emily blinked, stammering, “Ret-tribution?”
“Death. We don’t die readily. In fact, since the cessation of war, our home world has become so populated we can only stand on one foot at a time. Death is a rarity. It is unheard of in our young.” He moved faster than she would have believed. In an instant, he stood behind her, speaking softly in her ear. “But you killed a child, didn’t you? Put an arrow through his heart. Why did you do that? Did you hear him say he wanted to know what it felt like to d
ie? Are you the deity?”
It was a trap. No matter how she answered, she was doomed. She glanced at April, and then said carefully, “If I were a supernatural being, you wouldn’t have caught me. Unless I wanted you to.”
He struck her from behind, the blow raking the back of her head. April cried out. Emily fell on her face. Satan picked her up by her coat, holding her in the air like a soiled puppy.
“Blasphemy!” he roared. “You dare mock our beliefs?”
Emily’s lip felt fat. She met his gaze and said in a low voice, “Who are you kidding? You don’t believe in that stuff.” Inspiration struck her, and she added, “Perhaps I should inform your countrymen. They might be interested in your lack of faith.”
Satan pulled her eye-to-eye and said in perfect English, “You could do that. Unfortunately, I wear the only translator. They hear but my side of the conversation.”
Emily’s jaw dropped, amazed that he spoke her language. “What sort of creature are you?”
“Creature?” he bellowed, again in his dual voice. “We are not creatures.”
He threw her. She landed hard and rolled. Vaguely, she was aware of other demons leaping out of her path. She staggered to her feet, panting. Her thoughts whirled.
She could not stand in a toe-to-toe brawl with Satan. Her escape route was the dungeon, not only because of the protection the prisoners afforded her but because it led to the tunnels. Therefore, her target should not be Satan but the demon who restrained her little girl.
Her gaze flicked to her bow and quiver beside Satan’s throne. There was one arrow left.
Satan seized her moment of inattention. He streaked toward her, catching her with an uppercut. She never saw it coming. The blow sent her flying. Emily struck the golden throne, tumbling over the armrest. As she fell, she groped for the quiver. Before she landed on her back, she drew her bow, and as she came to rest, she loosed the arrow.
Satan flinched, but her shot was not aimed at him. The target demon turned as if in slow motion, eyes widening, mouth falling open. She’d aimed for his throat, knowing it to be vulnerable. She missed. Instead, her arrow struck inside his gaping mouth. His head snapped back. He fell, his hands slipping from April’s shoulders.
Satan roared, his yellow eyes flashing. He stepped toward April. Emily didn’t know if he headed toward his fallen guard or if he intended to harm the girl. With a shriek of fury, she unsheathed her knife and ran at him.
He turned as she leapt, her knife slashing down. The blade glanced off his shoulder. He swatted her away. She fell in a crouch, and then leapt again.
He caught her knife hand and twisted. Pain radiated up her forearm. The knife clattered to the floor. He backhanded her across the face, sending her skidding on her bottom. Emily felt her teeth loosen.
She ran at him once more. With all her strength, she kicked him in the groin. Pain shot through her. For a moment, she was certain she’d broken her leg.
He grasped her throat as she stumbled back, lifting her to meet his gaze. “They’re retractable,” he said, snuffling with demon laughter. His fingers tightened. His thick claws dug into her neck.
Emily pried at his hand. She kicked, trying to free herself.
A terrible pressure built inside her head. Her eyes bulged. Her tongue jutted from her lips. A buzzing sound grew. Louder. Louder. Darkness clouded her vision.
Her legs gave a final twitch. Her hands fell away. She felt herself falling, falling, like an unwanted rag doll. She struck the floor, bounced, and then lay still.
Satan’s booming voice washed over her, but she couldn’t understand what he said.
Gentle fingers touched her hair, her face. From far away, April’s voice wept, “Mommy, please. You can’t die.”
A little voice inside her echoed the words. No, she couldn’t die. Satan could put a spear through her heart, and it would hurt, but she wouldn’t die. That was his undoing.
With tremendous effort, she drew a breath. Pain wracked her chest.
Satan’s monologue paused.
She felt him pick her up by the back of her coat and swing her into the air. As he did so, Emily pulled the arrow out of her boot, the dead shaft that wouldn’t fly. Raising it high over her head, she plunged it into his eye.
Bellowing, Satan dropped her. As she fell, Emily grabbed the pendant he wore and ripped it from his neck. Trapped in their stupor, the surrounding demons were slow to react. She wasn’t sure they even knew what had happened.
With April in tow, Emily ran to the statue with the hidden control panel. She slammed the pendant into the slot. The pentagram lit obediently.
Satan turned. Blood dripped down his face. Baring his teeth, he shouted at her.
His guards moved, but too late. Snatching April by her waist, Emily leapt through the growing portal. The world exploded. A blast of heat stole her breath. Emily and April shot through the wormhole at incredible speed.
Emily felt her cheeks crisp and blister. She smelled her hair singe, and imagined it trailing from her head in red cinders. She held her daughter close, protecting her with her coat.
“Don’t look at the light, baby,” she murmured. “Keep your eyes closed.”
The mirror spat them out into shockingly cold air. Emily struck the wooden floor. One glance about the room told her she was in the haunted house in Saint Augustine. The conduit Joey used.
Sitting quickly, Emily examined her little girl. April sobbed, her lower lip sucking in and out. Her skin was red and raw; smoke rose from her thin arms.
“Are you okay?” Emily asked. As she spoke, she realized her own nose and mouth bled profusely.
April’s eyes bulged. She gave a high-pitched shriek, pointing over Emily’s shoulder.
Leaping up, Emily spun to face Satan’s Mirror. She saw Satan, his empty eye socket streaming blood, teeth bared in a grimace of pain and rage. His visage blurred as if he lunged forward, as if he intended to reach through and drag them back.
Emily threw herself in front of her daughter, arms out to shield her. She realized she still had the devil’s pendant, the golden chain wrapped about her wrist.
Without thinking, she slammed the pendant to the floor and crushed it beneath the heel of her boot. The Mirror didn’t pop out of existence as before. It went out screaming. Air raged in a whirlwind, sucked down the portal as it collapsed upon itself.
Fighting for balance, Emily slid forward. She clung to her daughter. The screech of air rose in pitch as the portal diminished. In the depth of the Mirror, something small and white moved toward them. She stared, mesmerized, and realized too late what it was.
Before she could move, her bone knife shot out of the collapsing Mirror and buried itself in her chest. It struck with such force it lifted her off her feet, knocking April out of her arms. She never felt herself hit the floor.
* * * *
Officer Harris leaned his forearms on the gate, looking up at the Weeden house. Early morning turned the windows gold. He blew on his hands, wishing he’d thought to wear gloves. Damned winter cold snap. It couldn’t be more than forty-five degrees.
Smith, his partner, emerged from between the buildings and walked toward him across the yard, leaving footprints in the shimmering dew.
“Anything?” Harris asked.
He shook his head. “Locked up tight as ever. I don’t see why we have to keep coming over here.”
Harris shrugged. “If the captain says we check the house every day, we check the house. Keep it free of vandals. Pacify the press. You know how hysterical those historical buffs can be.”
“If you ask me, it’s a damned waste of—”
His words were cut off by the sound of a smashing window and a child’s scream for help.
“What the—” Harris blinked at the sunlit windows. He burst through the gate and up the walk.
The front door had a lock box similar to a realtor’s but painted with the Saint Augustine Police logo. Harris fumbled with the key. “I thought you checked the back.”<
br />
“I d-did,” his partner stammered. “No one around.”
“Then how did a kid get in there?” Harris kicked open the door and entered the room with his gun drawn. He smelled a strong, sulfurous odor. “Call for back-up.”
“A bit premature, don’t you think?” Smith muttered. But he keyed in his shoulder radio.
Cautiously, Harris crept up the stairs toward the sounds of weeping and continued cries for help. When he reached the landing, he pressed against the wall. At an internal count of three, he hurdled into the room.
He saw a young girl who looked like she’d been through a fire. A woman lay on the floor. She was burned and bloodied.
He stepped forward, weapon ready. “Is anyone else here?”
“No,” the girl said. “Please help my mother.”
Harris stepped closer, and his stomach fell. “My God. Emily.”
Behind him, Smith called for an ambulance. It surprised him—he hadn’t heard Smith come up.
Holstering his weapon, Harris knelt over Emily Goodman. He opened her coat. “Knife wound.” He put pressure on the gash. He knew it had hit a lung because blood bubbled from her nose with every breath.
His partner entered the room. “See the weapon anywhere?”
“I pulled it out,” said the girl, holding the blade like an offering. “I used it to break the window.”
Smith took the knife. The girl said something more, but tears obscured the words. Her narrow shoulders convulsed with sobs. Harris wanted to console her, but her skin looked so raw he was afraid to touch her.
Emily’s eyes opened into slits. “April?”
The girl dropped to her knees. “I’m here, Mommy.”
Harris frowned. A thousand questions listed themselves in his mind—not the least of which was where the hell had she been the past four months. Sirens approached, so he said only, “Hold on, Emily. Help is coming.”
She cast her bleary eyes upon him. “Officer Harris.” Her teeth were shattered, turning her smile grisly. “This is my daughter.”
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