Hunting in Hell Read online

  The Mademoiselle sighed.

  She knew from the hurt expression on De la Roca's face that the sudden outburst had hurt her, but it was a necessary evil. Her trust was precarious it best, and the spell-caster needed to act before the mercenary had time to fully reason through the situation. So strange, the sides of her we see. With humans, De la Roca was a terror, a God. But among demons?

  A lost child, perhaps?

  At the very least, Laufeyson had made it easier. His treachery, and De la Roca's preoccupation with the man, made the Mademoiselle look trustworthy by comparison. She didn't know what the son of Laufey wanted with the mercenary, though, and that was a bit troubling.

  Still, it's a long-shot.

  A lot was riding on Thyrsus. While it was true that the demon had been missing from these realms for centuries, his exile had been self-imposed. Every demon (or angel) old enough to remember could recall the time before the madness had taken him.

  He was called Huginn then. Which name suits him better, really?

  They had all been present when he had torn the rift, leaping away from Earth and fabricating a world of his own design. Finding him would not be a problem.

  The rain had slackened slightly during her brief reverie, but it intensified again as she prepared to open the second door.

  Should I be sorry for my lies today? A hint of grief threatened to overtake her and steer her away from her mission, but then she remembered the risk.

  Better a liar than a dead woman. Quickly, she created the circle and walked through.

  Seventeen

  The world was cold and dark, with a curious crackle of electricity that seemed to stir through the air with her every movement. At first, the Mademoiselle felt nothing else out of the ordinary, and she wondered if she had chosen incorrectly.

  What creaturessss does this animal creatures what does this be?

  She sensed the words rather then heard them, their strange timbre stoking real terror in her heart for the first time in nearly a thousand years.

  Remember why you are here. She braced herself. Remember your freedom. After all—you set this ball in motion, and you can't go back now.

  "I have come with a gift for you," she called out, willing the tremble out of her voice.

  Gift? Thyrsus a giftening silver gold virgins a sacrifice wine Thyrsus.

  The forceful madness of the words pressed against her mind in waves. Too soon, she knew, her self-made barriers would fold over like paper dolls.

  Thyrsus gift choosing yes delicious Mademoiselle so delicious virgin nice want—

  His litany needled further into her mind. She could feel pieces of it infiltrating, spreading through her thoughts like a disease, the contagion unstoppable in its fury.

  "No!" She held up her fist. Quickly, she created the waypoint, the combined efforts of blocking him out and manipulating the world's planes draining her life-force in a rush. She doubled over as the circle winked into existence. With an inhuman jerk, she opened her hand, exposing the crystalline marble within.

  It had taken all of her power to pose as the Angel in De la Roca's dream. In fact, without the second Eye of Muninn, it would have been impossible. But Thyrsus had to be dealt with, even if it meant De la Roca's end, and lying to the mercenary had been the only way to do it. Even with the power of the Eye, she had only been able to implant the facsimile stone with just enough false memories to make the mercenary useful.

  It would have been easier to just give her the real stone, but she had other plans for it.

  Muninn-stone? Brother stone Muninn stone memory stone Muninn virgin wine want want Muninn brother hate hate stone!

  She threw it into the waypoint.

  For a moment, she felt his push intensify. She was certain she had made a grave mistake, that Thyrsus would consume her as easily as a breath of air. Then the floor beneath her disappeared into a void, and she felt herself falling.

  Thyrsus was gone.

  He had taken the bait.

  * * *

  De la Roca immediately realized that something was wrong. The air was so cold that Alsvior's breath plumed in heavy lines. The Mademoiselle had explained that time would pass slowly in this new plane, but she had not conveyed the scale of the difference.

  The hours passed into lightless days, and De la Roca was sure that she would go mad.

  Her only comfort was Alsvior. When her mind started to drift away from her, the lack of light spawning unfriendly hallucinations in the dark, he would come to her, pushing at her body with his head, anchoring her back within her body.

  Soon, though, his ministrations grew fainter, and she wondered if she was drifting beyond his reach. Perhaps he was being affected by the lack of reality as well.

  Her ample time to think only increased her feelings of loss. She had assumed Laufeyson her lover, for one brief day. The feeling—the need—had been so intense that learning the truth had crumpled her heart within her chest. What kind of demon was she, to crave a connection so?

  She had trusted the Mademoiselle, after his betrayal, only to be abandoned, interminably floating in a cold, black void of dream-space. And then came the inevitable conclusion—what if the Mademoiselle had been lying all along, the only plan to leave her body drifting through timeless, dark sands?

  As if from a distance, she heard Alsvior chuff, and her attention focused again on the world around her. The air, once so stagnant, had a different smell. After what seemed a month—perhaps a year—of living in absolute, unchanging sameness, it held the vibrant energy of the air before rain.

  She sought Alsvior out with her hands. The firm smoothness of his muscled legs recentered her even more. She worked her fingers up his body, until she found his back, and with a motion more instinctive then conscious, she mounted him.

  A point of light shimmered into existence. It grew into a glowing circle, a flat plane, chest-high, that spun and flickered. After so long in the dark, the intense light was blinding.

  She dug her heels in once, and he took off toward the circle, the gap closing quickly. Before they could reach it, a tiny crystal flew out, glinting and sparkling in the light like a diamond. Alsvior immediately halted and shuffled backwards, his hooves skidding across the dark sand.

  A roar echoed from the circle, one that shook both the mind and the ear-drums. It was followed closely by an unholy thrum—feed want shiny shiny want brother stone shiny want Thyrsus!

  The name galvanized her, even as the fog of madness washed over her mind in waves. "Back up! Circle back," she cried to Alsvior, and he complied readily. For the first time since they had entered this plane, they were again as a single organism, and even in the chaos, De la Roca felt a brief thrill of joy at their unity.

  The creature burst out of the hole in the opposite direction, a black mass that was impossible to identify. She caught a glimpse of feathers and unholstered her guns in response. It charged away from her and then stopped, motionless. It cast a tembling mass—the head?—left and right. Strains of confusion and fury wove themselves into madness needling into her mind.

  I should attack now, before it is aware of me. Yet her muscles had refused to function. The creature's thoughts were boring further into her mind, the tiny pinpricks of disease pulsing with their own pressure.

  Stone stone stone where stone want stone brother stone where!

  Blinking, she realized it was referring to the crystal, to—the Eye! It was the Eye of Muninn, as radiant as it had been in her dream! If she could just take hold of it, then … then what? Her instinct told her that it was imperative she take the stone, but her mind could not fill in the gaps.

  Alsvior urgently nudged her knee with his head. She pointed at the stone, her arm extended far out in front of his eyes, and he took off, his hooves tearing into the earth. It was as if he understood the importance of their mission—perhaps he did.

  It was close now—five seconds—four—three—she reached her hand down and slid sideways in the saddle, ready to scoop it up fr
om the ground.

  And then, like a shot, Thyrsus appeared as if from nowhere and covered the stone with his giant black body. Alsvior stumbled, unable to pivot or check his speed, and she tumbled from the saddle, falling on top of the demon. There was just enough time to register the sensation of feathers, softer than she had ever dreamed possible, and then the creature took wing, zooming away from her, the stone in his talons.

  De la Roca's brief contact with the creature had made his influence worse, opening up the minute holes of his madness into larger channels. His contagion flooded into her, rocketing around through her brain, and she doubled over, screaming, her hands clamped to her head.

  Yes yes yes mine mine mine brother stone Muninn stone mine mine mine!

  And then the Mademoiselle herself came through the portal, just in time to see the giant creature's flaps become more erratic, his trail zig-zagging across the horizon. She held up a hand, and the portal closed, plunging them into darkness.

  * * *

  The Mademoiselle could hear Thyrsus screaming, the echoes pressing in on the delicate confines of her mind. She couldn't hear De la Roca at all.

  "Goddamn this darkness!" Unlike many others of her brethren, she did not have the akra of lights.

  In response, Alsvior lit his mane and tail. She was momentarily blinded by the flare, but once her eyes adjusted, she could see the form of De la Roca, writhing on the ground. Her mouth was covered with a patina of foam, and her eyes were rolled back far enough in her head that only the whites remained.

  Her gaze flicked over to Thyrsus. His shadowy form was convulsing, the sharp edges disappearing and reappearing again. From time to time, a hole would form in his body, and the light caught the sparkle of something crystalline. The Eye. It has the Eye.

  She bolted to De la Roca's body. I could do it now. Her hand stole down to De la Roca's right side, intent on taking Bluot. As if it sensed her presence, the gun began to hum. She could feel its warmth under her palm, the smooth surface of its metal, and she gently pulled it out of its holster.

  De la Roca moved suddenly in reflex, her hand clamping down upon the Mademoiselle's. "Laufeyson betrayer die coming die soon deathbringer Bluot call Bluot NOW!" As she screamed, the mercenary sat up and slapped the Mademoiselle across the face with her free arm, before hitting her once in the throat. Within seconds, she was on her feet, both guns drawn and pointed at the Mademoiselle. Bluot was humming with an unholy roar.

  * * *

  No no no mother no no no deathbringer yes yes yes.

  De la Roca's mind was a kaleidoscope of spinning images. At times, she was almost lucid enough to see the world around her, dusky shapes against a background of whirling lines and blurry outlines. She would reach out just long enough for her hand to come into her field of vision, and then the world would be gone again, plunging her into a darkness that echoed with horrific voices.

  And then, there was something else, a large mass moving in front of her. She felt a sear of hot pain at her side, and she knew that somehow, this creature was attacking her.

  Who-who-who-who-who—

  Demon killer demon ender demon be traitor!

  The form in front of De la Roca was vague and shadowy, but as she stared, it took shape, lines solidifying into strong muscles and hazel eyes. It was not him, not exactly, and yet, somehow it was.

  Laufeyson-laufeyson-son-of-laufey. Thyrsus gun no take traitor die! She cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger, aiming right for the creature's head.

  * * *

  Bluot launched the bullet, and as it spiraled toward the Mademoiselle, she had one last thought—forgive me. I had no other choice. And then the bullet whistled by her ear, close enough for her to feel its warmth, and buried itself into the dark feathered mass of the creature behind her.

  Eighteen

  Thyrsus screamed once, his sides bubbling as they melted. Her moment of near-lucidity passed, De la Roca dropped to her knees. She mumbled and shivered, until finally, she was still.

  "Come Alsvior. We need to get them out of h—"

  Before the Mademoiselle could finish, Thyrsus's body burst into green flames. Their intense heat drove her and Alsvior back a few steps.

  "Does this always happen?" The horse merely grunted.

  Something small and round glistened by her foot. Quickly, before the horse noticed, she nudged it closer to herself with her toe.

  She didn't dare lean over to pick it up, though. Instead, she started to open the waypoint, but Alsvior bumped her in the chest, hard. Flustered, she let it close. "I don't get it. Do you want me to wait?"

  The horse nodded once in assent.

  "What for?" And why am I asking a horse that can't speak?

  She sat and waited, and the flames burned lower, until only ashes remained. Alsvior walked to the body, his hooves kicking up tiny piles of sand, and began nudging through it with his nose.

  Intrigued, the Mademoiselle was patient. An hour went by before he whickered at her, and she approached hesitantly, caught in the feeling of a ritual. He pushed something through the ash. It slowed as he crested a tiny hill, and then picked up speed on the other side, finally resting at her feet.

  A marble? No, a kevra stone. With a flash of greed leaned down to pick it up, but he neighed shrilly in warning, his head popping up once to thump her in the chest, hard enough to hurt.

  "Goddamnit! What do you want me to do then?"

  The horse looked at De la Roca and back.

  "What? I give it to her?"

  He chuffed once, and she again tried to pick it up. The fierce blow of his massive head was enough to knock to her to the ground. She sighed in exasperation. "I get it! No touching. Fine."

  She returned to De la Roca's body. "I'm glad I didn't wear a skirt today." She paced around it, pondering the best way to approach the situation, eventually deciding on the feet. She wrapped her hands around the mercenary's ankles and tugged hard, but the body barely moved.

  "Not going to happen, horse."

  He snorted menacingly, and she threw her hands up. "Goddamnit!" She grabbed the ankles again and pulled hard, the muscles in her arms popping awake with the effort. She pushed through her legs, half squatting to the ground, and the body slid through the sand a full foot.

  By the time she had moved De la Roca to the pile of ash, she could no longer feel the cold wind. She mopped the sweat off of her brow with the back of a hand, leaving a sooty trail across her forehead, and stood, stretching her back as well as she could.

  "You know," she said, a wistful tone in her voice. "I wasn't always this old."

  She turned to face Alsvior, her eyes narrowed slightly. "I wonder how old you are."

  Alsvior stamped the ground impatiently.

  "Okay, fine. You're the boss, you crazy-ass animal." With considerable delicacy, and perhaps just a tremor of fear, she took the unconscious mercenary's hand and placed it on the new stone, closing the fingers to a fist around it.

  De la Roca's eyes suddenly popped open, and she began to scream.

  "Oh, fuck this!" In a flash, the Mademoiselle opened the waypoint on the floor. De la Roca's shrieks were getting louder, a wolf-like keening that sent shivers up her spine. "Help me, goddamn you!"

  The horse bolted to her side and shoved his head against the body as she pulled. As the rain covered them both, pounding tiny holes in the black sand, they fell through the waypoint.

  * * *

  She was in Hell again.

  A thousand times, the Angel extended her the bargain, and a thousand times she pulled free. Then the scene switched, and she could see Laufeyson, moving in for the kiss. Her heart beat harder in anticipation, but when his face met hers and she pulled away, his visage changed. Half of it turned dark, melting into a mass of black feathers. His eye glowed like a crystal, and a stabbing pain exploded through her stomach.

  She looked down. Her midsection was a mass of blood and demon ichor, and next to it was his hand, pulsing with the light of the stone of Muninn.
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  He had cut it out of her.

  She screamed again, as the scene changed once more, and she was holding a child, its head covered with a veil. Hope surged in her chest, but when she pulled back the lacy fabric, the baby had a lamprey's mouth.

  * * *

  The rain beat down upon the roof of the Mademoiselle's small house. De la Roca had been held in the throes of madness for ten days, and for ten days, it had not stopped raining. Alsvior had stood watch over her body for the duration. At times, the mercenary would thrash uncontrollably, as if in a seizure. After the second day, the Mademoiselle bound her arms and legs to the bed, to keep her from injuring herself. Other times, De la Roca would scream again, an endless litany of nonsensical curses and wordless utterances that made the Mademoiselle feel ill.

  Once, no longer able to stand the howls, she had tried to take the stone from De la Roca's hand. The instant her fingers made contact with the smooth surface, her whole body burned, as if on fire, and the two of them had screamed as one. She had fallen backwards, thrown against the wall by some unholy force. Clearly, whatever torture the mercenary felt was not to be shared.

  * * *

  On the morning of the eleventh day, the rain slowed to a drizzle and then stopped. As the sunlight streamed in through the window, De la Roca blinked, conscious of the world around her for the first time since the fight with Thyrsus.

  "You are awake," said the Mademoiselle, the rising pitch of her voice more question than statement.

  "Yes." She blinked several more times and then raised the hand with the stone, bringing it up in front of her face to examine it. It was black, a deeper black then she had ever imagined possible, black enough that it could not be of this world. She could just make out a distorted image of herself on its surface, and as she stared at it, a milky shadow traveled across the smooth edge and disappeared. Whatever it was, this kevra stone was alive. "I have spent ten days in the madness of Thyrsus."