The Road To Hell Part 25

Candy hands red slippers to Angel, who places them on my feet. Circe reaches up and pulls two long pins out of my hair. My black locks tumble free, crashing over my shoulders and down to the small of my back. As she fluffs the strands around my face, movement by the doorway catches my eye. A man, tall, human, watching me, his sea-green eyes sparkling, a smile crooking his lips. Sandy brown hair teases his ears and neck. His work shirt and jeans are completely out of place here in the bathing room-here in the Abyss.

I stare at him, wondering who he is.

"Lady," Alecto says from above. I tear my gaze away from the stranger to look up at the Fury, her reptilian tresses undulating around her blackened face. "The hordes of h.e.l.l await your pleasure in the Courtyard."

A glance at the doorway tells me the stranger has disappeared. Something about him nags at me, a dream I can almost remember. Frowning, I try to place his face, his eyes.

"Lady?" Daun touches my shoulder. In my ear, he whispers, "Babes, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I reply, my mind searching for the man's name. "It's nothing." I raise my arms, and magic washes over me, transporting me to the dais in the Courtyard. Around me, the legions of h.e.l.l crash to the ground, prostrating themselves until all I can see are multicolored backs and limbs intertwined, like a carpet of flesh on the floor of Abaddon. Their reverence fills me, thrills me, and it's with a smile on my lips that I address the denizens of the Underworld.

"My brethren." I let my voice ripple over them, my power touching them, caressing them with love. "I will not waste your time with pretty words and false threats. Know that I commend your work with the d.a.m.ned. With every shriek of agony, with every plea for mercy, the d.a.m.ned are that much closer to repentance. With every creative use of tortures that humans cannot begin to imagine, you continually entertain the Nameless One."

I pause, allowing the weight of that Name to settle over the Courtyard. "Its gaze has been pulled from the mortal coil, is once again fastened here in the Abyss."

Murmurs through the Court. A few of the elite dare to glance at me before cutting their gazes back to the ground. I note those looks, remember those faces. Those are the ones to watch, to keep close or possibly to destroy.

"But we must continue in our work," I say, my voice reverberating, "lest the Nameless One grow bored. If Its touch falls again onto the mortal coil, humans will lead themselves to destruction. And then h.e.l.l will be no more."

By the back, over the bodies of millions of the nefarious, I see him again, leaning against the wall: sandy brown hair falling over his face, his arms crossed over his chest, his unb.u.t.toned shirt flapping in the hot wind. Even from this distance, I see humor dancing in his stormy green eyes. He smiles at me-familiar, amused.

Why isn't he falling over himself to show me his adoration?

Who is he?

Ignoring him, I continue my speech to the demons of h.e.l.l. "So I say to you all, be Evil. Show your charges what it means to fear. Lavish them with pain. Play with them. Give them hope, only to extinguish it brutally."

The Berserkers among the mult.i.tude chortle their appreciation, their bodies thrumming with the urge to do violence. But what I say next murders their glee. "And when their spirits are broken and their Sin has been repented and their souls are again pure, release them. Let those redeemed find their way to the Sky, and make room for those more worthy of your attentions."

A buzzing among the infernal-angry whispers, quiet hisses. They still react poorly when they hear of Heaven as if the place itself has any power over them. I bite back the urge to roll my eyes. Sometimes I forget that d.a.m.ned and demons alike can be such children. Even now, most of them don't understand that we're all on the same team.

So I cater to their nature, speak a language that even the simplest of them could understand. "Fill the Pit with the screams of the d.a.m.ned. Fill the air with the sounds of their cries. Rock the rim of Creation itself with your laughter."

I reach out, embracing the millions of creatures before me. "You are h.e.l.l. You define it, reshape it with your every move. Be true to yourselves and to your land. Be Evil."

Grinning, I release my power, raining l.u.s.t onto the demon hordes. "Let the Orgy begin!"

As soon as the words leave my lips, the infernal open their arms and their legs, and soon the Courtyard is filled with the grunts and thrusts of fornication.

I walk among them, watching their bodies writhe, listening to the sounds of their f.u.c.king, my fingers dancing over them as I pa.s.s by. With my touch, the nefarious grow more pa.s.sionate-their strokes become frenzied, their pumping a tumult of wild abandon as they lose themselves in the joys of s.e.x. From the gelatinous forms of the Gluttons and the Lazy to the taut shapes of the Proud, from the green-tinted desire of the Envious to the golden wants of the Greedy to the barely contained rage of the Berserkers, they all mimic the movements of the Seducers. Goading their brethren on, the succubi and incubi encourage the others to discover new pleasures of the flesh. In one fell swoop, the nefarious bond under one Sin: all creatures of the Pit, from the least of imps to the mightiest of G.o.ds, radiate l.u.s.t.

All but one.

I wind my way to him, my gaze fixed on his, ignoring the moans and cries of my brethren, my children. He winks in and out of sight as the revelers spill across my path, and I gently push them aside as I move forward, seeking his form, searching for his sea-green eyes. Someone grabs my hand and pulls me back; I stagger into Daun's arms. He kisses me, thrusts his tongue down my throat. I cup his b.a.l.l.s, flicking the tip of his shaft before I shrug out of his embrace. Craning my neck, I see the stranger, still loitering by the far wall of the Courtyard, waiting beneath an arch.

Waiting for me.

I approach the arch, my brow furrowed, a frown on my lips. He looks, feels, so d.a.m.n familiar that it's infuriating. An amused smile plays on his face as he watches me, and I'm torn between wanting to slash that smirk off his face and plant a serious kiss on those sensual lips.

Alone with him, the sounds of copulation fading to white noise, I ask, "Who are you?"

"A white knight, lost on the path." His deep voice fills me, kisses me until my nipples pebble and my core vibrates with need. I reach out to him, intending to pull him onto me, into me, but he steps backward into a gray room just beyond the archway. He asks, "Will you help me find the way?"

Aching to touch him, I walk beneath the arch, leaving the trappings of h.e.l.l behind me. My slippered feet whisper over the smooth stone floor as I step into the gray room. The man waits for me, poised beneath a large mirror as if ready to dive through.

Sweet Sin, I've never wanted anyone, anything, the way I want him right now.

A want is not a need.

From the archway behind me, I hear the sounds of h.e.l.l's orgy: the panting and gasping of demons s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g and reaching heights that G.o.d Himself never imagined; the laments of the d.a.m.ned, wallowing in their sorrow and fear, balanced on the cusp of personal salvation.

Standing before me, the stranger smiles. Worlds shine in his eyes.

"Jezzie."

Behind me, standing beneath the arch, Daun reaches out to me, beckoning. "Babes, come back. h.e.l.l's not the same without you."

Choose and lose.

"Help me find the way," the stranger says, then steps through the mirror.

"Jezebel," Daun says, my name a plea. "Jesse. Come back."

Let's see which you heed.

I'm sorry, Daun. A wordless cry on my lips, a name trumpeting in my heart, I dive through the mirror- -and in a crash of silver, I burst through the frame.

My arms shielding my face from the spray of shattered gla.s.s, I fell to the stone floor and landed hard on my side, the name in my heart buffering my body's pain.

Paul.

With a grunt, I pulled myself up, shook my head to clear it from the sounds of h.e.l.l f.u.c.king, the smells of heat and sweat and s.e.x. As I brushed the gla.s.s shards from my arms, my eyes stung with dust and unshed tears. I bit my lip to keep myself from sobbing.

I could have stayed, could have ruled the Abyss with firm hands and open legs, could have amused the Devil Itself with s.e.xual delights that would have inspired Anne Desclos to write new chapters in Histoire d'O.

My heart tightened, as if wringing the last drops of lasciviousness from my heart. How could I mourn something that never was?

It was real, Peaches whispered. If you had chosen to stay in the mirror, it would have been real to you.

But not truly real.

Does that matter? You wouldn't have known the difference, wouldn't have cared. If you'd chosen to stay in that reflection of h.e.l.l, you would have remained there forever.

Staring at a jagged piece of gla.s.s, I saw my face distorted, warped. Be Evil, I'd told the denizens of the Abyss. Being lost in a reality of my own making was about as evil a punishment as I ever could have imagined. Ghostly hands ran up my body, invisible teeth nibbled chocolate from my flesh. Just a memory, I told myself. A yesterday that never was.

Off to the left, a groan. Dropping the broken gla.s.s, I turned to see a hairy elf crawling away from the ruins of the mirror, his camera a smoking heap on the ground. I stormed over to him, my hooves grinding the shards into powder. My mouth twisted into a snarl, I yanked the elf up by the scruff of his neck. He squawked, flailing in my grip. His greasy pelt slick in my grasp, he nearly slipped free. Then my talons found his flesh beneath the matted hair and dug in. He cried out, then hid his face in his furry paws.

My voice a growl, I said, "Where is he?"

"He?" The creature lowered his hands, blinked wide eyes. He looked about as innocent as a wolf in pigskin. "He? Who is he?"

"You know who I mean, you little shoemaker's nightmare." I leaned in close, until my nose touched his, flashing my fangs in a hungry grin. "Take me to Paul Hamilton. Now."

"He made his choice," he gasped, "there's naught you can do. He-"

"So help me, if you rhyme, I'll staple your lips shut." I motioned with my left hand, and a fiery red staple gun appeared in it. Testing its weight, I waved it in front of his face. "I'm having a really bad day here, so don't f.u.c.k with me."

He squeaked and tried to shrink inside of his pelt.

"Take me to Paul Hamilton, you little Santa Claus kiss-a.s.s. Now!"

"Another mirror," he cried out. "Bring it now!"

Through the gray stone, dozens of tiny elves shimmered, stepping out of the wall. From the ground, a long, silver slab appeared, then lifted up about two feet off the floor. Beneath the mirror, a group of elves carried it over their heads. They approached me, barely up to my thighs, their red eyes gleaming-each looking like it was a toss-up between obeying the elf in my hand and dropping the mirror to take a chomp out of my legs. Without the cover of darkness, the Rhymers were sad, scrawny things, their nakedness obfuscated by their tangled pelts. They reeked of rotten oranges.

I pressed the staple gun to my prisoner's cheek. He squawked, "Set it down, set it down!"

Eyes bright, the Rhymers leaned the long mirror against the wall. Instead of reflecting the elves in its surface, it shone like jet: black, empty. Cold.

"Dandy," I said, shaking the elf. "Now what?"

"Say his name," he whined. "Say his name, and you'll see his desire."

I pictured Paul's handsome face, from his small, expressive eyes to his broken nose, to the way his lips quirked into a lopsided grin whenever something tickled him. Sculpted cheeks, strong jaw. Powerful neck. Wavy brown hair, curling around his ears, dangling over his eyes.

My Paul.

I'm coming for you, love.

Lifting my chin high, I said, "Paul Hamilton."

The mirror rippled, waves of white cresting its dark surface. Then it settled, focused, showed a gray room with a plain wooden door. Behind that door, Paul waited.

"Go in, if you dare," the elf said. "If you do, beware. It's his desire, his choice. The ending comes from his voice."

I pressed the staple gun against his mouth and pulled the trigger. SNIKT!

The elf screeched, his hands clawing at his bleeding, sealed mouth.

"I warned you, you little f.u.c.k." I dropped the thrashing creature to the ground. "Get out of here before I staple your b.a.l.l.s together."

He took off in a sprint, leapt through the wall like a ghost that seriously had to find a bathroom.

"That goes for the rest of you too," I said to the elves. "Go annoy some marketers or something. And do it without talking."

Their eyes blazing malice, the Rhymers oozed through the stones, only the smell of putrid oranges marking where they'd been.

I looked at the mirror, wondered what Paul's greatest desire was. Wondered if I really wanted to know.

Discarding the stapler, I touched the golden bracelet on my wrist. Had Angel done what I'd asked?

One way to find out.

I stepped through the mirror, walked to the door, turned the handle.

My heart leapt when I saw Paul seated beneath a huge sycamore tree... then sank to my knees when I saw Paul wasn't alone.

Chapter 18.

The Endless Caverns (II) Leaning back against the base of the huge tree, Paul might have been sleeping. His eyes were closed, his mouth relaxed into an easy smile. He wore the same work shirt and jeans he had in my desire, the same clothing he'd worn when Lillith had stolen his soul. Gra.s.s stained his cuffs, his shoes. If I hadn't been looking for the color of his soul, I would have missed it-whether because we were in his fantasy or because he didn't belong in h.e.l.l, his soul hid beneath his form, like a ripple just beneath the surface of a pool. But it was there all the same: white, resplendent with streamers of gold and silver, branches of rose extending from his heart.

My White Knight.

A breeze caught the tails of his shirt and flapped them around Paul and the woman snuggled against him. Resting her head on his exposed chest, she was a small thing, pale with short black hair, almost swimming in her yellow shirt. Her bare legs were tucked beneath her body, her arms wrapped around Paul's torso. When the wind died down, her hair fell away from her thin face, revealing a contented smile of her own.

Staring at that smile, my mind flashed on a photo I'd seen only once before on Paul's nightstand, a photo from before Paul had met me. In the picture, the woman's smile was captured for eternity-a good smile, full of the promise of youth and love.

Tracy, Paul's dead fiancee.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. c.r.a.p. Why couldn't he have been trapped in a tower?

A nagging voice in my mind, sounding horrifically like Lillith's, asked me why Paul wasn't fantasizing about me.

No more than you did about him, Peaches said.

That's not fair. I did fantasize about him. He pulled me out of the dream, led me back to reality.

So maybe he needs you to do the same for him.

Huh. Keep talking sense like this, and maybe I will rename you Elektra.

Peaches made happy noises in my mind, while the Lillith voice barfed.

I approached the couple, my hoof-falls m.u.f.fled by the springy gra.s.s. Around me, outdoor summertime smells danced in the air-clean sheets and hot dogs and sweat, bottled with humidity. The sunlight winked off the Rope of Hecate, turned my leathery skin the lush red of ripe strawberries. I easily recognized the benches around the trees as part of a park, and a glance past the tree line revealed a row of brownstones. New York City-specifically, Washington Square Park. One of Paul's favorite haunts.

Other people littered the gra.s.s and ground, laughing, talking, reading, inhaling city air and exhaling city dreams. A large number were gathered near a street performer strumming a guitar, singing the Beatles' tune "With A Little Help From My Friends." Paul and Tracy had taken refuge on the other side of the clearing, within easy earshot but not close enough to be trampled by other listeners.

Steps away from the dozing couple, I remembered that I was still in my natural form. As tempted as I was to keep it-man, wouldn't that scare the little tramp-I thought that Paul might not appreciate it if I made his former fiancee p.i.s.s her pants. a.s.suming she was wearing pants; from this angle, all I could see was her long shirt and hints of her thighs. So I called up my power, let it transform me into the form that Paul knew best: the twin sister of Caitlin Harris. I clothed myself in a white sleeveless blouse (sans bra) and denim cutoffs (sans undies), with low-heeled sandals on my feet. My black curls I tied back with a scarf the same bright green as my eyes. A quick poof of cosmetics later, my costume was perfect.

I stared at the streamers of energy drifting from my fingertips, watched them dissipate in the summer air. Bless me, how I'd missed my magic. It was tempting to stay in the dream, if only it meant I could work my demon mojo once more.

You did before, you know. Back in the Caverns, before you stepped into Paul's desire. You created the staple gun. Wonder what that means.