“Aye,” Jova replied as we both looked with relief at the empty courtyard and saw only the spurting fountain. Perhaps Hades did not hear our conversation above the noise of the fountain, or it was more likely that he had such a massive ego, that he did not think our conversation had anything to do with him! Emboldened by safely passing and insulting Hades’s monument of himself to himself, Jova and I found ourselves standing in front of a series of large steps, seemingly made for a creature ten feet tall. We resorted to climbing up the huge steps, and oddly, for every step we climbed, we turned back to see that the fountain, that great monument to Hades’s manhood, seemed to get closer and closer. We reached the final step and found ourselves standing next to a massive iron gate decorated with the remnants of human remains formed into English letters that I saw spelled F-E-A-R.
“Loves the symbolism, does the Lord of the Underworld,” Jova said with a hint of admiration in his voice. The gate swung open like a set of iron jaws, welcoming us to the inner sanctum of its master.
I looked back out of practiced habit and nearly jumped, for the phallic fountain seemed so close that I could touch it, which was the last thing in all eternity I wanted to do. I saw details that no man ever wanted to see on another man, unless that was what he fancied. I saw Jova start to turn and look at what had caused me to grimace, but I caught his shoulder and kept him facing forward. “You had better not,” I said, remembering his relative innocence. “That would give even the Bogeyman nightmares. Trust me.”
Hanging from the front door was a rather ripe-smelling corpse, stripped naked and adorned only with the business end of a cutlass protruding through his chest, and covered in streaks of dried blood from head to toe by what looked to be multiple bullet wounds from a blunderbuss. His head leaned against the door, and stringy blond hair fell to his shoulders.
“Definitely not unicorns and rainbows,” I quipped, realizing the hilt of the cutlass was up against a bronze plate, and this corpse was meant to be the knocker. “Do you want to do the honors?” I asked Jova.
“That’s okay, you go ahead,” Jova replied, looking at the corpse with a reluctant eye. “I wonder what you have to do to wind up attached to Hades’s front door.”
The corpse’s dead eyes snapped open, their radiant blueness causing Jova and me to nearly jump out of our skin. “I am so glad you asked,” the corpse said. “No one asks. They just smash me into the door, laugh a little bit, maybe flick me in the twig and berries, and go see the lord of the house. But what do you expect from a bunch of demons, right?”
A wraith swooped down from the towers, and smacked the corpse in the face with a disembodied hand that grew solid just at the moment of impact before it faded back into the ether. “Yeah, I know,” the apparently not-so-dead corpse said snidely to the wraith as it swooped back to the tower. “Teach me to show some respect. I got it. Good heavens.” The corpse brought its hand to its throat to try to loosen the rope firmly affixed there, but to no avail. His eyes bulged from the effort, causing him to give up with an awkward shrug. “I mean, what else can he do to me?”
“Not so sure I would want to see him try,” I said. “So what is your story, man? You are a man, right?”
“You never seen a cock and balls before, man?” the nearly dead man spouted. “I mean, I know I am not the biggest buck in the herd . . .”
“I meant you are human not an immortal,” I said, stifling a grin. “You got a name, my good doorman?”
The man tipped back his head and laughed hard, and I realized I could see the back of the door through a space in his skull, caused no doubt by another run-in with a pistol—a run-in the Doorman lost. “Yes,” he sputtered. “I am . . . my name is . . . damn it to Hell!” Down came the wraith for another smack, which the Doorman took without a reaction. He sighed. “Well, the Doorman works just as well as anything I have ever been called.”
“What is your story, Doorman?” Jova asked, his morbid curiosity clearly piqued.
“I have not lived the most honorable life,” the Doorman said.
“No!” I said. “Really? I don’t believe that.” I ignored Jova’s look of disappointment. “Sorry, go on, Doorman. I could not help myself.”
“No offense taken,” said the Doorman. “Really, it was me that could not help myself. Whatever I wanted—I took. Women. Gold. Wine. Clothes. Ships. Castles. Lives. And finally, it all caught up to me.”
I loved a good tale of woe. “Go on,” I said.
“Ah, it was in sweet Paris that my life ended, and this existence began,” the Doorman said. “I was no stranger to the brothels of that fair city. In a visit to one such place, I took it too far, and the death of one of the girls of the house was the unfortunate result. I did not return to Paris for many years, but when I did, wine and fate conspired to bring me to that very same house of ill repute, though that fact was unbeknownst to me.” The Doorman paused, either for dramatic effect or because he was missing some vital gray matter.
“And?” I encouraged this scourge of humanity.
“And,” the Doorman said, “I realized as I was about to reach my pleasure that the wench servicing me was the sister of the girl I killed, and she too would have to die. But there was something I did not know.”
“What was that?” Jova asked.
“There were four sisters that remained alive to avenge their own,” the Doorman said. “One plunged this sword into my back. One shot my brains nearly out of my skull with a blunderbuss. And the third, well, she had target practice with the rest of me.”
“Indeed,” I said. “A murder well avenged. But being a murderer does not get you such special treatment from the Lord of the Underworld. Murderers are here aplenty on the levels above us. So why are you hanging out as Hades’s private doorknocker?”
“The one I was inside at the time of my death was a bit of a witch and banished my body straight to Hell,” the Doorman said. “But as it turns out, I am not completely mortal. Somewhere up the family chain, I am part vampire, which I have to say finally explains the bad decisions I have made in my life.”
“How did you find this out?” I asked, ignoring Jova covering his mouth to stifle a laugh at my expense.
“Well,” the Doorman said, “my body arrived in Hell just at the exact same time as Persephone was leaving, and my eyes snapped open, not being truly dead, and well, I saw her and finished my pleasure all at the same time.”
“Right in front of Hades,” I said.
“Yes, and before I knew what hit me, I was hanging on this door, and staring at the Lord of the Underworld’s manhood for apparently all eternity.” The Doorman sighed. “Can you imagine what Hades would do to someone that actually touched Persephone?”
I swallowed with some difficulty. “I will try not to. You know they are not together anymore, right?”
“She was leaving him when I arrived,” the Doorman said. “Didn’t seem to help me any. So what is your business here?”
“Hades has my dog. And I came to get her back.”
The Doorman’s eyes widened. “You came to the tenth level of Hell for a dog? You are even crazier than I am.”
“She is not just a dog. She is family.”
“Wait a minute,” the Doorman said. “I heard the wraiths talking about you. You are the vampire that was with Persephone! Sirius Smitherer!”
“Sinister.”
“Whatever,” the Doorman said. “He got that white dog of yours as bait! I can’t wait to see what he does to you! I might even be set free! Ha ha, Mr. Smitherer, I am going to keep the door warm for you!” The Doorman started jerking his body in a frantic fashion, slamming against the door plate again and again, making booms louder than thunder. Slowly, the door opened outward, and I took a deep breath and entered Hades’s castle with Jova trailing a safe distance behind.
I was not sure what to expect when I entered Hades’s castle. I was betting on
a legion of demon soldiers escorting me to an audience with him and certain eternal torment. Or, perhaps having the ebon fist of the Lord of the Underworld punch me full in the face or the manhood. Perhaps even having a wall of demonic fire roasting me to a fine crisp, leaving nothing but ash to be swept into the fountain and spurted skyward again and again for all time.
I heard Jova gasp in astonishment behind me. What we saw was the ultimate vision of masculine opulence with an edge of cruel insanity mixed in. Our footfalls echoed off the shiniest black marble interlaced with streaks of ruby that glowed like fire beneath our feet as we entered a vast entry hall. To either side were majestic paintings all set in the Underworld, and all featuring the Lord of said Underworld, maiming, killing, torturing, and fornicating with those unfortunate enough to be conscripted to his realm. Great weapons, some still showing the blood of recent kills, were assembled in the middle of the hall, a sculpture paying homage to death and destruction. A veritable army of naked maidens of every race, mortal and immortal, color, creed, size, and delicious shape in the world, dusted the paintings, the weapons, swept the marble floors, and carried goblet after goblet of wine and countless trays of food to the master of the house.
“Well, that does confirm what I have always known,” I said to Jova, taking in the sights with a practiced eye.
“What is that?” Jova answered, clearly a bit uncomfortable with all the naked female flesh running around.
“Sure are a lot of bad girls out there.”
“So it seems,” Jova said, eyeing one buxom young wench, who looked him up and down and licked her lips seductively.
I was not so lucky. “Sirius Sinister,” one maiden said, slapping me hard in the face. “I told you the last time I saw you that I would see you in Hell. Well, here we are! What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Uh, sorry,” I stammered. That got me another slap in the face, then I watched her pert little bottom sashay away.
And on they came. “Hi, Sirius!” said one coyly. “You want to sow my garden like you did Persephone’s? I want to see it grow!”
“I get off in a little while, Sirius,” said another. “And then it’s your turn.”
Two elf twins approached, holding wine flagons. “As soon as we deliver these, we can do it like old times, Sirius,” one said.
“Don’t forget,” said the other. “You said my ass was yours, Sirius, and I am ready to take you up on it.” She bent over at the waist, giving Jova and me an eyeful of fine, tight, elf rear end.
“We’ll be back,” the first one said. “And we’ll be ready.” They walked away not taking their eyes off my crotch. I sighed and looked sheepishly to Jova.
“Guess I am not really surprised at all of that,” Jova said. “And I have to say, I am sort of envious, and sort of not envious. It is hard being you. Damn, bad choice of words. But really, if you were not immortal that enchanted thing of yours would probably have fallen off by now.”
I didn’t have any retort for Jova. I mean, come on, what were the odds? I sighed. Apparently, the odds were pretty good. For every queen, there had been more than a few hundred, or was it thousand, harlots, strumpets, wenches, and plain old whores. But that had been in my younger days—or at least that was what I was going to tell myself. And to me, younger meant any time before my responsible, conservative present, of course. I saw two iron doors, which marked the entrance to Hades’s throne room ahead. My present was possibly about to be cut very, very short.
Standing guard in front of the throne room stood two Amazonian beauties, stark naked but for the wicked phallus-shaped blades they held firmly in muscular hands. They were easily seven and a half feet tall, and their lithe, tan muscles and close-cropped hair gave them almost a masculine appearance, but for the shapely breasts the size of casaba melons that defied the pull of the earth and stuck straight out in challenge. And I had to say, the nipples pierced with little daggers were a great touch—Hades definitely knew what men liked, which was no surprise, because it seemed the Dark Lord was the ultimate alpha male. I wanted to suck on the full soft lips that the guards pursed as I awaited a challenge from these curvaceous creatures, but got only a polite nod as they stood to the side and pulled open the doors, leaving us no time and no choice but to enter the throne room.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. I would have liked to delay matters by facing those lethal ladies in swordplay, foreplay, cosplay, going all the way, or even macramé. Maybe death at their hands was a preferable option to what Hades had in mind. The Blade of Truth felt warm on my hip, and I adjusted my scabbard. Everything felt warm in Hell, I mused. And facing Hades’s version of the truth was the epitome of being truly under fire.
“Are you ready?” Jova asked, as we entered the throne room.
I looked at him as if he were the biggest imbecile in the Underworld. “Ready?” I retorted. “Are you kidding me? How does one prepare for a showdown with the Lord of the Underworld?”
You don’t, came the voice in my head. I had to agree with the Lord of the Underworld there. No amount of training and life experience was going to prepare me for this conflict. All I really could rely on was hope and faith, and the little bit of wisdom and knowledge I had gathered in the last three hundred plus years.
But what I did see was Garlic racing toward me. At least, I thought it was Garlic. Gone was her matted, bloodstained hair, replaced with a neatly cropped white coat that had seen a brush early and often. Toenails that she had nibbled to fine points for better slashing were now rounded and painted a bright shade of pink. But I knew it was Garlic all right as she put her front paws on my knee and barked excitedly. I patted her happily on the head and scratched her lovingly behind the ears. That was when I noticed the pink bows set in her ears.
“Oh, Garlic,” I exclaimed. “What has he done to you? I am sorry I could not and did not come for you sooner.” She ran a paw over her head to show me she had tried numerous times to get the pink bows out, but to no avail. Indeed, what sick, twisted creature would torture an innocent, little vampire Maltese like this?
“That would be me,” a deep voice boomed. Hades.
The throne room was more of a massive cavern than room, with great pillars of black obsidian laced with diamonds, stretching out of sight high above. A thousand wall sconces with mini infernos of blood-red candles cast so much light that it seemed like the great sun was dying and giving its last breath to Hades here in Hell. Grotesque statues and fountains lined a wide walkway of blood-red ruby that seemed to glow brighter and brighter every step we took. The Blade of Truth was getting so hot I had to hold the scabbard away from my leg to avoid being burned. I laughed to myself—it was sheer folly to avoid a little heat in Hell. I took comfort in the vampire Maltese padding so familiarly by my side. She just knew I would get us out of this. I was not so sure. And whether he knew it or not, the closer we got to the front of the throne room, the more distance Jova was putting between us. Probably a good idea on his part, I mused.
On a throne carved from a single dragon’s skull, Hades was sitting surrounded by naked nymphs, who in a well-coordinated routine, buffed his fingernails, preened his long, black hair, and offered him wine and food. He was easily more than ten feet tall, with cruel black eyes, and a seemingly permanent sneer on his bearded face. He grabbed a goblet of wine and drank heavily, his arm muscles moving and bulging like a great boa constrictor. Indeed, though Hades was clad from head to toe in black leather that I suspected was tanned from mortal hides, his freakish frame could not be hidden, as every movement and every breath he took showed he was the ultimate death dealer.
Hades shifted on his throne, reaching to spank a nymph, who giggled a little too enthusiastically. He rose slowly to his feet, and the nymphs scattered like mice, hiding behind the pillars to watch Hades deal out his revenge. He reached for his bident, whose two prongs glinted evilly in the candlelight. He pounded the bident into the floor for e
ffect, listening for a moment with obvious pleasure at the sound it made, before pointing it straight at my heart.
“Sirius Sinister,” Hades said, his fanged grin mocking me. “At last we meet. Your skills as a warrior and assassin have sent me many a permanent denizen of this fair realm.”
I was not sure what to say to this incredibly powerful creature of darkness. I could smell what I thought was something burning in the direction of my feet, but was afraid to look away from Hades. Of course something was burning, I was in Hell, and if it were my boots, it was not like I could do anything about it! “You are welcome,” I said, seeing Jova wince out of the corner of my eye. Wrong answer?
The grin faded from Hades’s face instantly, replaced by sheer harsh cruelty. “You think a lot of yourself, Sinister,” he said. “And judging by your familiarity with my palace staff, so do the females of this world—and that would include my ex-wife, Persephone, wouldn’t it?” Twin fireballs flamed into existence at the points of his bident, burning so hot I could feel their heat upon my face.
“It would,” I said, not taking my eyes from Hades, but ever conscious of tiny wisps of smoke coming from my boots and scabbard.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shove this bident up your ass and pin you outside my door for all eternity,” Hades shouted, stepping down from his throne to loom above me. Garlic put her paws over her eyes, whimpered, and lay down on the floor by Jova’s feet.
“Because then you would never know,” I said, feeling remarkably calm in spite of the fact that my boots and scabbard were seemingly quite on fire.
Hades had cocked the bident as he spoke, in preparation of hurling it at me, but now he set it on the floor. “Know what?” he growled.
“The truth,” I said, locking gazes with the Lord of Lies.
Hades laughed out loud, and several of the nymphs giggled along with him, until a cross glare from him silenced them. “I am growing tired of your game, Sinister,” he said, raising the bident once again. “In this place I am the truth! What is this truth you speak of?”
My Ex-Wife Said Go to Hell Page 39
