The Devil's Pit

by Naomi Martin

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  The methods/actions described within this eBook are the author’s personal thoughts, as no characters, places, or events are based on anything considered “real.”

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Prologue

  One Year Ago…

  Raven

  My eyes fly open and I sit bolt upright in bed. My heart is hammering and my breath is quick as I scan the room around me. The darkness is thick. Inky shadows cling to every corner, making it impossible to see anything but the silhouette of all my furniture—all of it ominous-looking by the dark of night.

  I hold my hand out, palm up, and summon the energy that flows through me. A small ball of light appears, swirling and rotating, fiery like a little sun in the palm of my hand. The light fills my room and chases away the darkness, revealing—nothing. Everything is just as I left it before I went to bed. No evil creatures lurking in the shadows, no men with hockey masks and chainsaws—nothing malevolent. Just the trappings of any normal seventeen-year-old girl.

  “So, what woke me up?” I mutter.

  I close my fist, snuffing out the light, and give my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness again. The back of my neck prickles and I grow warier by the second. Something is happening. Something pulled me out of sleep. When I can see, I slip out of bed and pad to the window, pulling the curtain aside. I stare down into the backyard and feel the blood freeze in my veins.

  Men in black military uniforms dash through the shadows, encircling the house. They’re all in tactical gear, wearing what I assume are night-vision goggles and carrying large guns. My heart beats so hard, I’m sure it’s about to burst straight out of my chest, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

  This is it. They’ve found me. It’s the moment my parents have been dreading since I came into my powers when I turned sixteen.

  “Shit,” I whisper. “Oh, shit.”

  I turn, heading for the door. I need to warn my family. Need to get them to safety. But a moment later, I hear the sound of shattering glass. That’s followed by a crash so loud and hard, it shakes the entire house. I pause with my hand on the doorknob, tears welling in my eyes as I hear the pounding of footsteps on the stairs and then the sound of my dad shouting at the intruders. His voice is muffled through the door, but he’s clear enough—as is the anger in his voice.

  “What are you doing in my house?” he shouts. “Get the fuck out of here!”

  “Put the gun down, sir,” somebody shouts. “We’re executing a lawful warrant for the arrest of your daughter.”

  “Lawful warrant my ass, get the fuck—”

  “Last warning, sir,” the man returns. “Put the gun down now. We have the authority to exercise lethal force and we will.”

  Time slows to a crawl and a tense silence reigns for a moment. I silently beg my dad to put the gun down. But as I listen at the door, I hear the muffled thump-thump-thump of a gun outfitted with a sound suppressor and feel my heart shatter into a million pieces. The next thing I hear is the anguished shriek of my mother and the meaty thud of a body hitting the floor—my father’s body.

  “Raven, run baby!” my mother’s scream fills my ears. “Run! Now!”

  I hear the sound of more muffled gunfire and it’s all I can do to keep silent before there’s another heavy thud on the floor as she joins my dad. I back away from the door, my hands over my mouth and tears streaming down my face, trying to deny the horror of what’s happening in the hallway just outside my room.

  But when the door crashes inward and a large man is silhouetted, I can’t deny it anymore. Though the grief coursing through me is thick, to the point of being suffocating, the rage that suddenly fills me is sharper. More vibrant. I narrow my eyes and clench my jaw as I see the man in black tactical gear coming toward me, a silver collar in his hand.

  “Easy now,” he says, like he’s speaking to a cornered dog. “We’re not gonna hurt you. We just—”

  He never gets to finish that sentence because I thrust my open hands at him and send twin balls of flame, hot and intense, straight at him. He opens his mouth to scream but the balls strike home—one lodging into his chest, the other in his throat. He staggers backward, clutching the smoldering wounds in his body as he falls. He’s dead before he hits the ground.

  The ball has been set in motion and I know there’s no going back now. I’ve killed a federal agent, and my only choices now are to surrender and let them collar me or let them shoot me down like they did to my parents. A second man enters my room, his weapon up and ready. A mask covers his face so I can only see his eyes. Just beyond him, I see my parents lying on the floor in the hallway, both of them covered in blood, their eyes open wide and fixed in the glassy stare of death.

  The rage burning within me is hotter than the two fireballs I parked in the other man’s chest. Narrowing my eyes, I make a circling gesture with my hands and feel the power surging through me. As if by invisible hands reaching out of the darkness, the man is lifted off the ground, his arms pinned to his sides and a look of horror on his face.

  He manages to squeeze the trigger on his weapon, though, and shots thump into the floor at my feet. Startled and acting on pure instinct, I clap my hands together and the next thing I hear is a wet, crunching sound as the man is crushed. He lets out a choked gasp and sprays a red mist from behind his mask as he falls to the floor in a meaty heap, blood seeping from his eyes.

  I dash to the hallway and channel my power, lashing out with my hand to send a strong burst of wind at the men coming up the stairs. They’re all lifted off their feet and blown backward, tumbling down the stairs in a twisted mass of arms and legs. They scream in surprise and pain as somebody below shouts orders. It is chaos and confusion down there, and I need to capitalize on that or it could cost me my life—and my parents would have died in vain.

  Casting one last look down at the torn, broken bodies of my parents, I stifle the sob that threatens to burst from my throat. If I give in to my grief now, it will paralyze me
. And then I’m as good as dead.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  I turn and dash down the hallway, trying to summon the courage and strength I know I need to escape this mess. We’ve practiced this. My parents have trained me for this moment, forcing me to run this drill countless times.

  The sound of boots on the stairs and the angry voices of the soldiers they belong to make my stomach lurch and the fear makes my every nerve ending feel like it’s on fire. But I make it to the end of the hall, pound down the flight of stairs, and make it to the steel door.

  I push through the heavy door and slam it closed behind me. When I hit the red button beside the door, I hear the thick metal rods snapping into place, locking me into the panic room. The room is set up like a small apartment, with furnishings and enough supplies to last for a few weeks. It’s comfortable, with soft sofas, a kitchenette, and a fully stocked refrigerator and pantry. To the outside world, it looks like a normal panic room—something not overly remarkable, given the state of the world today.

  It was a feature included with the house, originally. But when I came into my powers, my parents had a few special features added to it for me. I jump at the sound of the hollow thuds that fill the room as the soldiers try to break through the reinforced steel door. I glance at the monitor set into the wall and see there are half a dozen men in black standing outside.

  The door will hold them off for a while but eventually, they’ll get through. I need to move. I need to be as far away from here as I can be when the door finally does come down. I grab the go-bag that I keep in here. It’s filled with clothes, money, fake IDs—everything I need to survive for a while. Slinging it onto my back, I run to the bookcase and reach for the book that will trigger the lever that opens the secret door.

  Before I pull it, though, I pause as a strange feeling comes over me. A strange energy crawls over my skin, and when I look at my arm, I see the hair standing on end. Goosebumps suddenly cover my flesh and I feel a pins-and-needles-type prickling all over my body.

  “Oh, shit,” I say.

  I cut a quick glance at the monitor again and see that the soldiers have all backed off, leaving one man standing before the door. He’s not wearing a uniform—just blue jeans and a black T-shirt—and looks older, maybe in his forties or fifties. He’s tall and gangly with a wild shock of dark hair and a thick, bushy beard on his face. He turns his face up to the camera and a slow, feral smile crosses his face. It’s as if he knows I’m watching him.

  I don’t need to see him in action to know what he is—he’s an elemental. Like me. And that means I have even less time than I thought. I watch as he turns away from the camera and back to the door, raising his hands and beginning a series of gestures. I can hear the steel creaking almost immediately and see a small, glowing red circle starting to form in the center.

  “Fire elemental,” I murmur.

  The air is thick with a feeling of static electricity as the man draws energy to him. I quickly pull the book down and hear the click of the door opening. I let go of the book and it snaps back into place as I swing the door open on its invisible hinges. I step through the doorway and look back at the steel door. The red glow is slowly starting to turn to white—and when it does, the steel will start to melt away.

  Tears, fat and warm, start to spill down my cheeks. When I shut this door, I’ll be shutting the door on everything I’ve ever known. My entire life—at least as I knew it—will be over, and I’ll have nothing but uncertainty and the unknown ahead of me. And worst of all, I won’t have my parents by my side to help guide me. The realization hits me like a runaway train, driving the breath from my lungs as a choked sob bursts from my throat.

  We knew there was a possibility this could happen. We had planned on this day becoming a reality. But honestly, I never thought it would come to pass. We were safe. I didn’t use my powers anywhere people could see them. I practiced in private. And, knowing what would happen if I were ever found out, neither my parents nor I ever breathed a word of it to anybody. How in the hell could they have found me?

  I realize the question is moot at this point. They found me. And right now, I need to set aside all of my fear and my grief and get the hell out of here. I will not let my parents’ sacrifice be for nothing. I close the hidden door behind me and slam my fist against the large red button, then listen as the steel rods snap back into place.

  It will take them a while to find this door, and when they do, it may take them a while to get through it. After burning through the main door, their pet elemental is going to be low on juice. Unless, of course, they have another one. Which is a possibility.

  Not wanting to think about it for fear of paralyzing myself, I turn and run down the tunnel that had been built for my escape. It’s dark, so I conjure another ball of light and jog down the corridor. The end of the tunnel is about a mile ahead of me and when I climb out, it will put me in the middle of a park.

  Far enough from the house to not be seen as I slip away into the darkness. As I slip away to freedom.

  Chapter One

  Present Day…

  Raven

  “You bring back some food?”

  Eric leans close to me, sniffing loudly. I push him away and settle back on the top of the park table, flashing him a grin. It’s dark out and the park is sparsely populated, though there are a few clusters of sketchy looking people. Of course, in this part of town, most everybody is sketchy looking. This is life on the wrong side of the tracks.

  “Back off,” I tell him. “Don’t I always bring food back?”

  “There was that one time—”

  “Eat a bag of dicks,” I laugh.

  “I’m hungry enough to consider it.”

  Still grinning, I shake my head. “You’re disgusting.”

  I look around the park but don’t see anybody giving us any undue attention. Staying vigilant is the key to survival on the street, as Eric has taught me. Of course, he’s busy looking out for muggers and bruisers—far more mundane things than what worries me.

  One of the things I appreciate most about Eric is that he knows me for what I am and has never treated me like a freak for it. He’s never tried to make me do anything with my powers I’m not comfortable with, and he’s never tried to take advantage of me or my abilities. He’s just been a really good friend to me, almost treating me like a kid sister more than anything.

  I can practically hear his stomach growling as he wrings his hands together, all but salivating with his eyes focused on the backpack sitting between my feet. I sigh and unzip it, pull out one of the still-warm, greasy bags, and toss it over to him.

  “There,” I growl. “Happy?”

  “I will be once I get all this food in my belly.”

  I laugh softly and shake my head as he tears open the bag and goes to town on the burgers and fries inside. I open my own bag and pull out a couple of fries. I pop them into my mouth and chew thoughtfully as a thousand different thoughts fire through my mind.

  “What are you thinking about?” Eric asks around a mouthful of burger.

  I frown and feel a hitch in my heart. “It’s been a year—a year today, actually.”

  Eric holds my gaze for a moment, his eyes filled with compassion. He knows what I’m talking about without my having to say it aloud.

  “I still miss them,” I say quietly. “As much today as I did a year ago.”

  Eric moves so he’s sitting beside me. He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head.

  “I know you do,” he says. “And it’s only natural that you do.”

  “When will it stop hurting?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he replies. “I just know that, with time, it’ll get easier.”

  He holds me for another moment before letting go and returning to his food. I can’t blame him. As sad as I am, I’m hungry, too. While we don’t often go without, it’s not like we’re eating like kings out here, eit
her. We have to eat when we can.

  “You okay?” he asks, his mouth full of fries.

  I shrug. “I will be.”

  Eric is about the closest thing I have to a best friend anymore. I met him shortly after I had to leave my home. I was alone. Scared. Heartbroken. And angry as hell. But I had no idea how to survive on my own. Eric had been out on the streets a couple of years already, and he kind of took me under his wing. He showed me the ropes and taught me how to get by.

  He’s not like me—he’s not an elemental. But he’s street smart. And between the two of us, we’ve done okay. We’ve survived. Yeah, we’ve had a few rough nights here and there, but we’ve very rarely gone hungry and we’ve never been without a roof over our heads. It’s definitely not the sort of life I’m used to—I don’t have a soft, warm bed, or any of those things I always took for granted growing up in an upper-middle-class home.

  We finish our meal in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. As the hour grows later, the sketchier the people filtering into the park are. After ten, the place usually gets pretty dangerous. It’s like the deep darkness of the late night draws them here or something.

  With my powers, I can handle anybody that comes at us. To be honest, I still don’t know the full extent of my abilities—I was only just scratching the surface with my trainer last year. But the idea is to keep a low profile and not draw attention to myself, something using my abilities would most definitely do.

  I know those soldiers who murdered my parents are still out there and they’re still looking for me—they’ve been rounding up my kind for years and taking them to God knows where. These assholes are probably dissecting and experimenting on them.

  “We should get out of here,” I suggest.

  Eric nods. “Yeah, I agree.”

  We jump off the table and I throw our bags away, both of us keeping our heads down and our eyes moving as we leave the park.

  * * * * *

  We cut down the gloomy street and my body is tense. The only light comes from the moon above—the streetlights either busted by kids or people who prefer to operate in the shadows. This part of town has long since been abandoned by the city officials who haven’t made any attempt to gentrify or otherwise clean it up. No, this part of the city was surrendered a long time ago to the drug dealers, prostitutes and their pimps, and a cornucopia of bad people.