Charm City (The Demon Whisperer Book 1) (16 page)

Chiara rounded the final steps and completed her descent into Hell. When her feet hit the scorched terrain, a wave of muffled thunder rolled across the acrid plane.

Her hair whipped about by chaotic winds, she strode across the red raging landscape. It looked like a battlefield, piles of bodies, mangled and maimed…

But not dead. Tormented souls, strewn all around, eternally trapped by their choices. Some reached out to her, pleading for help.

She didn't even look at them. She walked with a purpose, knowing exactly where she had to go.

Simon stood at the edge of the pit, her scarf tied around his forehead, eyes unfocused, watching Chiara from the view of the charmed necklace. He can see whatever her amulet pointed at, but cannot hear. He doesn't regret that caveat one little bit. Hell was a terrible noise to endure.

He saw the fields of Hell. He saw exactly what awaited him. He clutched the rosary so hard his hand bled on the Crucifix.

On a hill stood a monstrous figure, standing like a monument to the decay and the agony around it. As she approached it, the demon's shifting features come into focus.

And Simon knew exactly who it was.

Chiara marched up the hill, lesser demons snarling and slinking out of her way.

Balazog stood like a giant and marked her approach, chortling as she grew near.
WHERE IS YOUR PRETTY MORTAL FACE, NOW? YOU STINK OF THE ABOVE. YOU STAYED TOO LONG. YOU ARE SOFT AND WEAK.

"I am here for the girl."

Balazog bared his teeth, a lipless parody of a smile.
SHE IS MINE. MY VICTORY. MY WAGER. MY WIN.

"She was not a prize. She was a smash and grab and she doesn't belong here. Release her to me."

Balazog crossed his scaled arms over his grotesque chest.
AND WHAT DO YOU OFFER IN TRADE?

"I remind you of your allegiance."

MY ALLEGIANCE IS NO CONCERN OF YOURS.

"Is it not?" She paced a circle around him. "My word can find an eager ear. A misdirection, a tiny betrayal."

LIES ARE NOT THREATS HERE.

"No, they are tools. Soldiers are tools. You are a soldier. So are they all." She swept her hand around, indicating the ruins of hell, the shadows skulking across its scarred plains. "And those soldiers do not fight for you."

Balazog spread his tattered wings, the leather vulcanized by eons of purloined power and Hell's arid heat. Every battle, every vanquished foe, every tiny victory—all of it went into his armor, his wings, his hide. He was nigh indestructible. A true general of hell.

Chiara had no way to physically defeat him. Not on this plane, nor upon any other. And she was the offspring of two divinities. Balazog couldn't even claim that—demons were once mortal men before their damnation.

Oh, no. This wouldn't be hand-to-hand combat, even if Balazog planned on exactly that. She exhaled, opening her mind and beckoning to her father. His power filled her like a scalding wind.

The Corinthian reared back and slashed at her, seeking the tender flesh he'd rent before. She stood her ground and stared him down.

And when his claws glanced harmlessly off her, she smiled.

He roared and struck again. Claws slid right over her, throwing tiny silver sparks. His rage made him lose control and he lunged, grabbing her and throwing her down, throwing all his weight and his rage into it, pinning her beneath his talon-tipped wings.

Calmly, she gazed up at him, as beguiling as a lover. "You know your place. Your place is below."

I AM BELOW!
he screamed.

She allowed her father's nature to roll to the surface. It was part of her, half of who she was. Even here in the heat of hell, buried beneath a hulking mass of general-rank demon, she felt clammy and cold. She nodded. "And you will never forget your place. I promise it."

Balazog sprang off her in surprise. She slid to her feet, fluid-like, serpentine-like.

The one-track mind of a warrior made him forget his surprise and he scrambled after her, clawing and clutching and gnashing his teeth upon her.

And she was unscathed. He should have filleted her, devoured her. And nothing. Nothing! His impotent attempts to hurt her infuriated him.

That was when she saw the first chink in his armor. The breastplate loosened and hung on its hinge. She rolled around him and whispered in his ear.

"You know your place." She stroked his face, the gnarled misshapen lumps of leathery face.

He screamed and grabbed her around the waist.

She twisted and slid free as if she'd been greased. Another show of silver sparks, another crack in the armor as the plate broke free and clattered to the ground. Each tiny defeat weakened him. More plates rattled and loosened.

"Your place is below. Stay in your place below."

Time and again he rushed her, desperation wearing through the rage. Each time she whispered his dreaded truth. Each time she evaded him, each time his hard-won armor weakened and crumbled.

Finally, he turned to her, his armor destroyed, his wings drooping, and he revealed what made him Simon's worst nightmare.

A small girl huddled, trapped inside his misshapen abdomen. Dirty and wide-eyed, the child looked driven to madness, holding onto the demon's ribs like prison bars. Her eyes peered out, searching wildly about.

When she saw Chiara, she screamed.

Simon couldn't keep up with the images that flitted through his Sight, streaming from the
Extemporanivis
spell. He saw the demon rush Chiara, saw her roll with the demon when he jumped her. But the action slowed and he caught his breath but then demon turned and he saw her, saw the child, trapped and screaming—

"Release her to me." Chiara closed her mind, feeling her father's influence fade. The heat returned like burning canvas, stealing her breath.

AND IN EXCHANGE?

"You survive. I bested you. The Corinthian is powerless against me."

A TRICK. I WILL KEEP YOU IN HER PLACE.

"Will you?" She smiled coldly. "I've no use for an empty threat. You cannot touch me. But I will acknowledge your power, general. I will not keep all the spoils. One pass. No more. One pass. By a minion—" She raised a finger, emphasizing the condition. "And no more than one soul. A deserving soul."

He shifted his stance. No one liked to admit defeat, not even in hell, where all were defeated from the moment they arrived.
WHY DO I THINK YOU WIN BOTH WAYS?

"Because my father makes the rules. Do we have a deal?"

DO I HAVE A CHOICE?

Chiara just smiled. "This is Hell, dearie. Choices do not exist here."

Balazog shuddered and clenched his fists. The ground trembled with the force of power. He shifted, distorted, his very body splaying outward and dispelling the child.

The girl stumbled to her knees, falling into the acrid dust, choking. Tears streaked her face. Chiara took the child by the hand and led her back to the portal.

Carefully, she knelt down in front of the girl. Sarah whimpered and twisted her head away, eyes squinched shut. "Don't hurt me. Please. I just want to go home."

Chiara gently squeezed her shoulders. "Sarah, you
are
going home. Right up those stairs."

"I can leave? I can finally…leave?"

The tiny hope that flickered in Sarah's, like a new firefly, was a good sign. Hell hadn't destroyed her spirit completely.

Chiara smiled and smoothed the girl's snarled hair. "You'll find someone waiting up there for you. He's pretty old now but don't be afraid. You'll know him."

Sarah hiccupped and nodded. Chiara hugged her and turned her toward the stairs. She lifted Simon's amulet over her head and placed it around Sarah's neck, re-positioning it on her chest before urging her forward.

The child took each step hesitantly, not quite trusting. Her tenure in Hell had killed her hope, replacing it with despair…and suspicion. Sarah ascended slowly, eyes on the brightness above. She never looked back.

Chiara didn't follow the child. Instead, she turned back to the landscape of smoke and pain. In the distance lay an iron road. She set off toward it.

Simon's vision refocused when he saw movement on the staircase. Pressure in his chest squeezed his breath to a standstill when he saw who it was.

Sarah. She broke the surface of the water and emerged dry, eyes flitting everywhere, shoulders hunched.

"Sarah." He slipped his lens out and held it to his eye, hand trembling. Through the glass, she appeared normal. Perfectly normal. "No. Can't be. Sarah?"

"Simon? Is that you? Simon!" Her eyes grew wide and she smiled, ear to ear. She raced to his arms and clutched him, squeezing his waist hard enough to hurt his still-bruised ribs.

Solid arms, not the phantom of another dream. She was real. Still ten years old, still a smile that could knock a guy off his feet. Still Sarah, here.

The past had been undone. Almost every regret he'd bourn in his heart, forgiven.

He pulled her back and knelt, looking hard at her, cupping her sooty chin. She was real. Chiara had saved the child. Saved them both. Not a ruse. Real—

Then he saw his amulet on her chest.

Chiara.

She was still down there.

He held the child to his chest and stared over her shoulder to the empty staircase, horror stopping his breath.

Chiara followed the iron road to a great fortress. Stone walls spanned out to infinity, too high to climb, too wide to circumvent. The road had led her inevitably to a massive and heavily guarded door.

Legions of faceless demons stood in rank before the door. An army that could strike the stoutest heart dead with fear.

At her approach, they turned and stepped aside as easily as stirring flower petals on the surface of a puddle. Admitted her without a fight. Why would they fight her?

She raised a finger and pushed the door open, the effort using more will than force. The inside was lit by torches in iron sconces. Even inside the windowless fortress, there was more light than had been on the dim Hell plane. Eternal twilight, fear of the dark. Here, hellfire provided the comfort of light.

Ironic. Then again, Hell had a thing for ironies.

Once inside, there was only one way to go. She exhaled through her nose and eyed the staircase.

Down.

Deep into a winding dungeon, she trudged for an immeasurable length of time. Minutes and hours and days didn't exist here. In Hell, there was only one measurement of time: forever. It always felt like forever.

Eventually the stone stairs and stretching corridors ended, and she faced a massive iron door.

She raised her finger again and drew a symbol across the corroded metal. Internal mechanisms whirred and clanked and the door clacked open, swinging wide with a creaking groan.

Music seeped out, sounds of a string quartet. She stepped into the same room as her own palace, with identical décor.

Nearly identical. One difference. Instead of a couch, there was a throne.

A tall man in an elegant suit stood near the fireplace, his back to the door, holding a glass of wine. He turned his head as she walked toward him.

His eyes lit up, hot white coals, and he smiled. A selfish, wicked smile.

"So. The Halfling returns and marches into hell, undaunted. Come, let me have a look at all your ruined perfection." He turned, opening his arms. "Welcome home, daughter."

She scowled at him. "There is nothing ruined about me."

"Sweetheart, you were born ruined. Marred by humanity and angel stink."

"I was born perfect. I have always been perfect. I do what I must do, perfectly."

Lucifer set down his glass on the mantle and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her tenderly on the cheek. "I could make you perfect. I could burn away those imperfections, like purifying precious metal. All you have to do is accept your place here."

She didn't return the embrace. Instead she shrugged away. "I'm not staying long."

"You say that every time."

"I mean it every time." She drifted away from him, rubbing her hands.

Lucifer tugged his cuffs, adjusting his suit jacket. "You know I don't approve of your consorting with that criminal, Alliant. And I like criminals."

"He is not a criminal, Father."

"He is wrong for you."

"He is not for me. No one is." She turned her head only enough to look at him, a baleful heaviness dulling her eyes. "You made sure of that."

Lucifer clucked his tongue and took up his glass again. "Come, now. We all have a destiny."

"Oh, don't lecture me on destinies. This was not yours."

Without warning, Lucifer slammed his glass on the floor, shattering it. The entire room shook and distant thunder rolled. "Don't you dare! This is my kingdom and you, my dear, are royalty, no matter how unwilling you act. Tell me you don't enjoy the perks of being daddy's little girl."

"I don't like owing you."

"You are my child. You don't owe me." He straightened his tie and tugged his jacket straight. "I provide."

"It's never that simple with you."

"Because you don't trust me."

She wanted to grumble at him. The entire journey here, she anticipated facing off against Lucifer, king of Hell. Living in the mortal world, it was so easy to think of him as the stereotypical Fallen One, the enemy of God, the archon of eternal darkness.

But it never went that way. There was never that ultimate moment of confrontation. She always ended up face to face with her father. And that always made it harder to maintain her resolve. "You don't exactly have a sterling reputation."

"That's business. You're personal. I don't need to treat all the world the way I treat you. When are you going to realize that?"

"When you can prove to me that you can play fair."

"I do play fair, dearest. The trouble is, you are confusing the rules of one game with another."

Chiara looked away.

Lucifer softened his stance. "Look. I'm glad you're here, even if it's only for a moment. But we do have to talk about that little deal you made out there."

Simon pushed the girl behind him and turned back to the edge of the portal, shouting Chiara's name. A movement stirred below.

He leaned over the portal, hands on his knees. "Chiara, honey, come on, come on, come on…"

The movement below rose up the stairs like a bur. Chiara, running at top speed, looking like the hells were on her heels.

When she hit the water barrier, she stopped. Eyes wild, she sought Simon's face. She banged on the ceiling trapping her, using both her fists. Her mouth moved silently, sound cut off by the magical barrier.
Let me out! Let me out!

Simon stood up to his full height and stared her down.

Sarah crept behind him, holding his waist, peering out from his side. "Who is that, Simon?"

His brows furrowed. "I… don't know."

Chiara toyed with a small sculpture on a pedestal. In her version of home, it would have been a replica of the Frudakis Freedom sculpture.

In Lucifer's version, it was different. The sculpture looked like a wall built with the bodies of dying men, a great horned beast standing triumphant over them. She curled her lip in distaste. "What's to talk about?"

"Simply an opportunity to express my admiration. I saw what you did with my Corinthian. You let him think he won something that would have been his anyway. He's shrewd and he's greedy and yet, you bent him to your will. Well done."

"Are you angry with me?" She averted her gaze. A punishment was looming, she could almost feel it. By opening herself to his influence, she'd borrowed a part of him without permission. She knew he didn't like being pilfered.

"No," he said. "Not mad. Concerned."

She turned toward him, not trusting her ears. Words meant little here. True value was measured in intent and conviction.

"I haven't given you an easy destiny." He walked over to his throne and sat, his elbows on his knees. "You've always done well walking the line between the Light and the Dark. It was my hope for you when I Named you. But if you start doing things my way, your mother will find out. And that would be…most undesirable."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly sticky. "Where is she?"

"That's the problem. I do not know." He raised his head, slowly shaking it, his upturned brows giving him away. "Watch your back, daughter. I can't always be there to protect you."

Simon planted his feet and braced himself against the trembling of the ground. The water surface rippled with each smash from Chiara's fists.

He stood stock-still, his eyes glassy and unblinking, and made no move to dispel it.

Not even when she clutched at her throat, appearing to choke. Bubbles escaped her mouth as she continued to cry out for release.

And all he did was pull out his cigarettes and lip one out of the pack.

Her face shimmered, shifted, changed. The bones slid under her skin, which withered and blackened until she was nothing more than a demonic minion.

Rat-faced, ragged, and red-eyed, it shattered the barrier and shot out of the portal with a horrific scream. Simon hunched over Sarah, gripping her tightly, shielding her. The minion took off, leaving a streak of soot and flames that scorched the air in its wake.

Simon instinctively chanted the spell that would reverse the portal. The ground shifted and swallowed up the staircase as if it never existed, sealing shut with a slam that rocked him to his knees.

Chiara scowled like a teenager. "Mother is the least of my worries."

"She shouldn't be." Lucifer adjusted his collar. Funny how talking about mother always made him uncomfortable. "You forget, I know her very well."

She rubbed her arms, the discomfort mutual. "Well, right now, there are bigger problems."

"Such as…?"

"The Corinthian."

He laughed. "You bested him."

"
You
bested him. Through me." She drew a shuddering breath. "I want him bound."

"I don't understand."

"He gated, Father. To the Above. He tried taking a soul and I stopped him, but just barely. Was that sanctioned?"

He didn't answer. His hooded gaze held secrets the way no mortal ever could. King of Deceit. Nothing more than a military tactic. "I noticed his brooding as of late. He will be difficult, I suspect."

"He must be bound."

"Why?"

Hands on her hips, she frowned at him. The haughty royal, stamping her foot. "Because no servant should have that kind of freedom. He nearly killed me."

Lucifer scoffed. "You would not have died."

Her gaze slid sideways and she tapped her lip with a finger. "I did make it to the pool in time…"

"See?"

"…because Simon carried me there."

All the humor ran from Lucifer's expression, pulling his features down into heavy, stony lines. "The magician."

"Yes."

"The magician saw the silver pool." He placed a threatening emphasis on each word.

It was Chiara's turn for amusement. "Mmm-hmm."

"No mortal should know of its existence."

"I would have died if he hadn't. Would you rather I had died?"

He narrowed his eyes.

She climbed the three steps of the dais and grasped his hands. "Then Balazog needs to know that damaging me and subsequently revealing one of your many secrets is a punishable offence. Bind him to Hell. Remove his access to the mortal plane."

"He is powerful and well-known. Should a magician summon him—"

"Then the magician should fail. Irrevocable sentence, Father. Take his Name. Bind him, permanently and unequivocally. For the damage he has done to you."

Lucifer's eyes flashed silver, his anger breaking through. The vase on the mantle began to rattle.

That's right. Remind him again.
Daddy's little girl, indeed. She could wind him around her little finger. Sometimes, it was so easy to play his game. "And the damage he has done to me."

"What damage?" Lucifer scoffed. "You are stronger than ever before."

Yes. She was.

One thing she did not need to be reminded of. She'd lost another piece of her mortality when she healed in the pool. It had made channeling her father's essence so easy…

"Exactly." There was iron in her voice to stifle the rage, the despair, the slipping of her precarious balance. "And he's got to pay for that."

Lucifer rubbed his mouth.

"What are you planning to do? About him, I mean?" He lifted his chin as if referring to someone upstairs.

He was, in a way. "Simon? Nothing."

"Well, not right now. You've given him what he needs. He is healing." He glared at the ceiling as if he could see Simon. "He will be nearly whole. And I don't like him. I didn't like him when he was a fresh-faced apprentice. He was barely tolerable when he was drooling his days away in the nut house. And I will not like him whole."

"He is a human and out of your jurisdiction."

"Not entirely." Lucifer's eyes flashed again. "My darkness will rise."

"And the Light will be just as heavy. There must always be a balance."