by Lucy Auburn
"Stranger things have happened," Ezra points out. "Mortals have escaped. It's mostly legend, but still."
"What about your memories?" I eye them one by one. "You're all here. You know each other's names, and the basics of demonology, and how Hell works. But do you remember yesterday? The day before? What about your last mission? The last year?"
Dawning lights in their eyes slowly... well, except for Mateo. Lynx is the one who tells him, "We must have died. We've been reborn... partially, at least. Our bodies are the same. But once we take our next mission, or are summoned by a Grim in the mortal realm, we'll disintegrate and be reborn in new bodies."
"Well, fuck." Mateo whines a little. "I hated waking up in this body in the first place. That coffin was disintegrated. And it took ages to get this skin suit looking right."
I wrinkle my nose. They never told me that they're reborn in coffins—Sebastian left that part out when he explained how demon death and rebirth works. And the words skin suit don't exactly make me feel great about the fact that I've slept with them.
"Can we get back on track, please?" I ask, trying to dismiss the thought. "There isn't much time. We have to get out of this pit, and into the deepest depths of Hell—at least the third inner ring, though how we get there, I have no idea. You four are supposed to face—"
"Enough," Ezra says, voice harsh. "Whatever it is that you want, whatever reason drew you to bring us here, forget about it. We're not serving you or your interests, Grim."
His words sting. Those green eyes that have met mine with so much love are cold and harsh now. I feel like the girl I was on the cliffs, the one who was frightened and alone, who screamed at the sight of a dick being severed and a bunch of privileged assholes dying messily. I've changed, but now so has he, and I'm the only one who can fix what's gone wrong—too bad he doesn't trust me.
Impulsively, I reach for him, and he cringes away, leaving my hand hovering in the air. There's scorn on his face, along with disgust and confusion. It's not like it was before—when we were bonded, he and the guys were incorporeal, tugged along for the ride. They got to spend time watching me and getting to know me. They knew who and what I was from a distance. Now it's different, and I have to accept that if I want us to get to the other side intact.
I take a deep breath in, then out. Facing off with Ezra, who I know I'll have to convince more than the others, I tell him, "I'm not just any Black Phoenix. I'm your Black Phoenix."
Silence falls at this revelation.
I decide I might as well keep going with the rest of it, and hope that I'll be believed.
"The reason why you're here—why all five of us are here—is because I want—we all want—to free you from your contracts. To do that, we have to go to the innermost parts of Hell, where spirits are forced to face themselves and either cringe away or cleanse their sins. Once you've faced who you were, and who you are, you'll be freed from your contract."
His face looks skeptical. "No demon can free themselves from their contract."
"Malavic did," I point out, but his frown just deepens. "He told me his secret. All it cost me was one of my many lives, and... a favor." One I'll have to repay soon, by drawing his summoning circle and bringing him here. In time. "This is what he did to free himself from his contract. Now he can't be controlled. He's only summoned when he wants to be. And he'll die just like anyone... well, he would, if he chose to live a mortal life, among mortals. Which is what..."
"What we want."
Lynx's voice is soft but sure; I turn to face him, my heart squeezing at the little bit of awe in his brown eyes. He's no longer looking at me like he wants to squeeze the life out of me. I think he believes me.
In a tone full of wonder, he paces towards me and says, "Her soul. It calls out to me. When I look at her, I see so much more than I've ever seen before."
Stubbornly, Sebastian says, "That's just because she's supernatural. All those phoenix lives affect the size of their spirits—they have to. It's excess energy."
"No," Lynx says firmly, "It's because we're tied to her. I don't think I'd be able to see her soul unless she was dead, or nearly dead, here in this part of the spirit realm. But I do see it. It glows, you guys. And it's so beautiful. I think... I think I actually believe her."
Relief makes me close my eyes, taking in a gasp of air. I was starting to think that I'd have to do this alone. Or worse, if they never believe me, they could decide to just let themselves be reborn, and lose any chance of recovering what we had.
"It's the truth," I say aloud, looking around at them in the hopes that it might be sinking in. "I can tell you all about it. I don't exactly have proof, but... I know things. All your scars. Your powers. Your histories. We know each other very, very well. I'm the reason why you're here. And together, we can get out of this, and free all four of you from your contracts with Hell."
Sebastian's blue eyes study me. "Let's say I believe you—and that's a big if. Why should I even trust you? Not only are you a Grim—or at least mostly a Grim—but I don't even know your name."
"I know yours, Sebastian," I tell him softly. "Mine is Dani. Dani Carpenter. I was born a Grim, but I wasn't raise one. Until the night I met the four of you, I had no idea the blood that flowed through my veins. Everything started for me that night when I died... and nothing has been the same since."
Mateo whistles. "How did it start?"
This part makes me smile at him impishly. "With a severed dick."
Chapter 16
When I'm done telling them who I am—who they are—I find myself facing a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and rapt attention. Lynx looks utterly convinced; Mateo does too, though he asked the most questions. But Ezra is still wary and distant, while Sebastian looks like he's trying to break away from my early order, pick his poisoned knives up, and slash me with a few.
He's not going to come around easy. That much is obvious from the way he's acting. At least I have half of them on my side now. Maybe that'll be enough to actually pull this off.
"So, all we need, like I said, is to journey further into Hell, find your true selves, and if you face them, you'll be free from your contracts forever."
"Or," Sebastian says, "we could slit your throat and be free of you forever."
Lynx mutters, "Really, dude?"
"I'm not buying this story of hers." He narrows his eyes at me. "Maybe we were bound to her, or... still are, but there's no way we went along with it or—" here he sneers a little, "fell in love with her."
"I dunno man," Mateo says, "the severed dick thing sounds pretty true to form for you."
"Also, she knows us pretty well," Lynx adds. "Not just our names, but everything. Our powers. How we related to each other. Our personalities."
"One of the other Grims who's summoned us could've written information down all of that. They write down info about us all the time. It makes us easier to enslave to their will."
"I told you, I don't even know any Grims," I object. "I didn't know what I was until I died. I had foster families, and my dad—well, he was a dick who left my mom. The only ones who told me about you are you."
"It is somewhat plausible," Ezra admits, "but there's no way I'm going to do anything a Grim I don't remember tells me to do. Not if it could risk my life."
Frustrated, I tell them, "Once we're deeper into Hell, I can summon Malavic. And he can't lie while he's standing in his summoning circle above the rune of his true name. Would you at least believe him if he told you this is how you'll free yourselves?"
Sebastian admits, "The demon is an asshole, but he's free for a reason. I've always been curious why."
"I'm up for it," Lynx says, "though of course you already knew that. The research though—it's fascinating. I've never known how who we are works, or why we were made into demons. Knowing my past... it's a draw bigger than I care to admit."
I hesitate for only a moment before I tell him, "You might not like what you find. Before you died and lost your memories, you saw so
mething that you were sure was a memory of your old life as a human. It's hard to explain—a poltergeist was involved—but... you were pretty upset about it."
"We all did terrible things that got us here." Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me defiantly. "Maybe it would be better if we never find out what they were."
"Maybe," I admit, though my heart twists at the thought. "But which would you rather choose: a chance at freedom from all Grims forever, or living in blissful ignorance? I know which one I'd rather pick. Then again, I'm not a coward."
He snarls at me, then reluctantly admits, "I've never liked backing down from a challenge. This one does seem to be bigger than any other. And it would be good to see Malavic face-to-face. That asshole... whatever he did to get out, I want to know."
"I told you the truth," I protest. "Exactly as he said."
"Still. Better from the horse's mouth." He seems to make a decision. "I'll go, Ezra, if you are. Deeper into Hell will be a cakewalk—we know the way. And Malavic is worth listening to."
"I never liked that asshole. But fine—let's do this, if you're up for it. Follow the Grim brick road." He narrows his green eyes in my direction. "If there are any tricks up your sleeve, Grim, know this: I'll cut you down before you can use a single one of them. You won't be enslaving any of us, or forcing us to do anything we don't want. Bond or no bond, I'm certain that if we try hard enough, we can fight against you."
I don't know that they could. I'm not willing to test it, though. These memories, the ones of us as we are now, will remain with them after they've restored everything else and broken their contracts for good. I'd hate to see the look in their eyes if I misused my power to bend them to my will.
"Just don't use your weapons on me," I remind him, putting the force of my Grim magic into my words. "All of you—you can bring your weapons, but keep them sheathed unless there's another threat. One that isn't me. Understand?"
Mateo complains, "It's not like we have any choice."
They don't.
But soon they will.
Soon they'll have every choice at freedom in the universe.
"So, how does this work? Do we just go down more hedge mazes or something? Is there a riddle with three doors? Also, how the Hell do we get out of this pit and into, well, Hell?"
"You ask a lot of questions," Sebastian grimaces as he sheaths the last of his knives, no doubt wishing he could use one on me. "The pit is an illusion. If we find the right brick, we'll be able to get out. After that—no, there aren't hedge mazes. What you likely walked through on your way here was child's play. A simple series of meaningless tests to discourage Grims like you from getting into Hell and releasing demons who are kept here for a reason. What we'll find once we leave this pit is a great deal worse."
At the end of this grim speech, Mateo adds, "So I have you have an 8mm. No? A shotgun? Grenade? Anything?"
"I have these," I tell him, stepping back and summoning my wings. They flourish behind me, black-and-orange fire flickering into view. Dismissing them, I tap the bracelet on my elbow and add, "And this. Not that I'm really sure what I'm supposed to be doing with it, but once I know—well, it's Headmaster Tower's to deal with when I'm out of here. It's pretty powerful too, though."
"What does it do?" Lynx asks.
Excellent question. I have barely the faintest idea, so I airily tell him, "Oh, it has immense power. Seven immortal lives. And it throws dragon fire and... other things."
Sebastian snorts. "She has no idea. Ezra, found the way out yet?"
I bristle at his dismissive attitude, finding myself wishing that he would face his inner asshole before the others. I long for my sweet yet bitter Sebastian, the one who takes my pain away and gazes at me with love in those blue eyes. The sooner we're done with this and I have the old versions of my guys back, the better.
"Almost there..." Ezra has been moving around the room, tapping various bricks with the handle of his sword, seemingly getting information out of what sounds like nothing in particular to me. "This one is close... maybe one more... two to the left..."
"It's here." Mateo strides over and taps one of the bricks in the wall, and the entire wall collapses into a doorway around him. When Ezra shoots him a peeved look, he just shrugs. "I saw a divot in the middle of it."
I can't stop myself from snorting aloud in amusement as Ezra's frown deepens. "Florida Man beat you at the riddle."
"Wait..." Ezra is looking at me in genuine confusion. "How do you know that we call him that?"
"Because I know you."
He frowns. "I guess so."
There's a moment of silence, full of unspoken emotions, where I can feel it: hope. That everything will come out okay. That I'll get them back in the end.
"We should go through the door," Sebastian says, cutting through the moment like knives through skin. "It'll close, and somehow I doubt Florida Man over here can solve the riddle a second time."
As we head towards the door, Mateo wonders aloud, "Huh. I guess I could find out soon if I really am from Florida."
"Knowing you, you're probably the son of a stripper and that bath salts guy who ate someone's face off."
Hell has—shocker of all shockers—a lot of demons guarding its gates. Slathering, many-legged, furry and strange demons with odd smells and teeth in places no living thing should ever have teeth.
"Ready? We've got to fight through there," Ezra points to a gate at the far side of the room we're peering into, "then get to the other side, where there will be at least half a dozen guards, and around the corner. I know the way, but I'll need you guys to back me up."
"Ready," I say, more out of habit than anything, and Ezra gives me an odd look. Swallowing, I realize aloud with a blush, "You... didn't mean me."
He frowns and looks back down towards the obstacles in front of us, his throat bobbing as he swallows heavily. In a low voice he says, "Let's get this over with."
And we do—with surprisingly little difficulty. My phoenix fire cuts through demon and their spawn. Ezra's sword slices things in the middle, and the head, and other places. Facing off against dark and twisted demons with a demented, delighted smile on his face, Sebastian makes short work of them with knives and daggers. Lynx is all fists and brute force, while Mateo takes up the rear and shoots things long range.
At one point, a scaly thing nearly slices me open from hip to shoulder, but Mateo shoots it five times until it's twitching on the ground. I turn to grin at him, but he's already looking away, moving on to his next target.
Swallowing my disappointment, I remind myself: this is only temporary. It'll all go back to normal soon.
Unless it doesn't.
"Here is as good a place as any." Ezra wipes his sword off on the ground and sheaths it, pacing towards the center of the domed room we're in. "You can summon Malavic now, Gr—Dani. It's time we talk to him about this little plan you cooked up."
I don't remind him that we all came up with the plan together. I'm exhausted—not just from fighting my way through swathes of demons, but of reminding the guys over and over again that this isn't the beginning for us. It's wrenching me out, turning my heart into a dull, heavy thing. We really are in Hell—even though it doesn't look like it, bizarrely. Not in this room, at least.
We're in some strange underground atrium with a dome that looks up towards endless Hellfire, packed earth at our feet with green grass growing out of it, half a dozen guards dead around us strewn between rosebushes and fountains. The demons have gotten more humanoid as we moved closer to the center of Hell, though these still had tusks coming out of the corners of their mouths and floppy ears. Apparently this room is some kind of staging place—Ezra explained, in an impatient tone, that it's where human souls are brought on their way into or out of Purgatory to be weighed and judged.
There's a book set on a marble pedestal in the middle of the room, along with a marble bench that curves behind it. The judge is absent—apparently the room is rarely used, Purgat
ory being an underpopulated place. Most people either damn themselves straight to Hell or float peacefully to the Great Beyond—those that don't stick around and turn poltergeist, that is.
It's strange and awful to think that this is where my guys' fates were sealed. If they hadn't come here, they never would've signed their one-way, doomed contracts with Hell that enslaved them for as long as it's decided they deserve it. But if they'd never been turned into the demons that they are now, they wouldn't have met me, or I them, and none of us would be here today. I don't know if I should curse this place or thank Hell for it.
"What's this book for?" Walking over, I run my fingers along the pages. "It's full of signatures."
In a dull voice, Sebastian says, "This is where we sign our contracts, remember? The signatures bind humans to an afterlife of servitude."
My heart aches, and I pull my hand away, shaking my fingers like something might've rubbed off on them. It's hard to imagine what people might be told to convince them to sign such an irrevocable thing. Maybe they feel like they have no choice—Hell is burning through the dense glass just above our heads, after all. I doubt any of them realize just how long they'll pay for their sins, or how much humanity it'll cost them.
Turning away from the book, I find an empty spot in the grass, slightly creeped out by the garden. It takes me a moment to realize why: there are no bees here, no butterflies or birds, not a single puff of wind or drop of water. The plants that grow all around me must stay frozen like this, created not with life, but with power. They don't need sunlight to survive. Only the fires of Hell shine down on them.
It's the last place anyone should decide their eternal fate. That's kind of the point, though. As I draw Malavic's summoning circle for a third time, I send up a little ironic prayer that he'll convince the guys to do what I need them to do. He's wily, though—and this is no place for prayer.
