Emerald Hell (17 page)

 
CHAPTER 23

—

Shadows rose from Brother Jester and slid forward, racing around Hellboy, veiling him, and entering him.

This was a different kind of darkness. It was his nightmare come alive. He felt his own history being drawn up from him and dispersed. His memories, his hurts, his knowledge, anger, the lessons learned, his love, even the confusion. And everything else that made him what he was.

He struggled to grab the forbidding wraiths, feeling them beat and flap against his chest like wings. But they were insubstantial, ethereal, and he couldn't grab hold despite what they bled from him.

Luckily the shanty was empty. He was on his back in a child's bed. The frame, made from cut logs and lashed together with twine, had been crushed to kindling beneath his weight. A smiling rag doll with pearl-button eyes had flopped off a shelf into his face. On the floor lay a smashed chalkboard slate covered with a kid's drawings. A Hellboy-sized hole had been torn through the front wall.

He reached for the shadows again and said, “Hold it, you're not taking any pieces of me away with you—”

They slid across the floor and ceiling, the grand forms of archangels turning their faces toward him, nodding, their lips moving to speak words he couldn't hear. Divinity taking a cheap shot at you for no reason you could name. Didn't everybody already have to put up with that enough?

When the shadows receded back to Jester, who stood just outside the hole in the wall, the preacher almost seemed frightened for a moment before he began to laugh. Hellboy clambered out of the kid's busted bed thinking how awful it could have been. A child dead by his own hand. He clenched his teeth and climbed out of the wreckage.

“Let's try that again,” Hellboy said, rushing from the shack and swinging his fist once more at the dark preacher.

Jester caught him by the throat in one superhumanly quick movement, then yanked Hellboy off his feet until they were nose to nose. The boiling motes of energy leaking from Jester's eyes burned into Hellboy's brain. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth. Hellboy clubbed at Jester but he couldn't move the emaciated codger an inch. Not only was he in trouble, but considering Jester weighed about eighty-two pounds, this situation was damn degrading. About the best he could do was knock the hat off. It didn't make him feel any better.

“We are both similar creatures, you and I,” Jester said.

Hellboy gasped, “Now you're just . . . being . . . mean.”

“We were set on our courses long before our births, game pieces of God. Slaves to Heaven and Hell.”

“Go take . . . a flying jump, pal.”

“We have walked both paths, the left and the right. We're closer than you think. Almost brothers.”

Fighting the pain, swallowing back screams, Hellboy tried to kick out, but he couldn't get any purchase with his hooves.

The mad preacher said, “You are full of sin and that sin gives me strength.”

“Screw you, you son of a—”

The whispering shadows swarmed over Hellboy until they covered him completely, within and without, as he stood in the dim moonlight with shimmers of lightning cracking the heavens. He felt the feathered darkness prying into every crevice of his mind and soul, sweeping back through his life. Reveling in certain memories, almost soothing him during others, and finding his most unbearable moments and pitying him for them. He set his lips and blood ran down his chin and flicked among the winged shades. He could almost see eyes there, peering at him forlornly.

Hellboy tried to raise himself against them, and tore again at Jester's hand on his throat. The frail white fingers dug in with even more furious strength. It would've been funny if he wasn't being throttled.

He kicked out, planted his hooves on Jester's chest, and finally managed to fling himself away. He landed hard, rolling in the mud, hacking and sucking air. He stood and turned, ready for the next attack.

Except there wasn't one.

Brother Jester's arms were thrown open, his head forced back. His mouth grew wide and flaming motes of arcane power drifted from his lips and nostrils. Something nasty was happening but Jester appeared happy about it. He climbed into the air, inch by inch.

Hellboy watched and shook his head and sighed. He had no idea what was happening but it couldn't be good. Jester laughed although he was clearly in agony, one of those penitents who can do incredible feats because their faith carried them through.

Ma'am McCulver said Jester had performed miracles and brought God to the swamp. So what did this guy believe in now?

“You want to tell me why you're so interested in this one pregnant girl?” Hellboy shouted at the levitating form. “Just because Bliss Nail and your wife played hanky panky once upon a time? You really think that's worth all this grief you've been causing for twenty years? You know she's not your daughter. You know we can't let you take her baby. You're acting like an idiot.”

Jester came down fast, still laughing, but his eyes were pinwheeling. Good, it meant the guy had his weak spot.

“You've no right to judge me, demon. Your secret heart is so much worse than mine.”

“Thought you were going to show it to me.”

“I have.”

“So far I just see a trickster playing games.”

“You're blind to yourself. Which is how you wish it to be. But I'll give you the boon of sight.”

For some reason Hellboy didn't like the sound of that. The shadows reared and swarmed forward again, like a crowd of helpful people moving to lend a hand, who only wind up suffocating the person they're trying to help. He could feel them now, within him again, and he realized they weren't evil and weren't truly a part of Jester.

Hellboy sensed they were as immature, unknowing, naive, adventuresome, and curious as the swamp kids.

He realized then that the crying children he'd been hearing for two days were these angels. Perhaps the lost offspring of God. Or perhaps the lost scion of mankind.

He looked at the preacher and said, “Okay, playtime's over, pal.”

“This has never been a game or joy. It's duty and blessing.”

Jester stood over him now, his forehead bulging with nubby horns. They grew larger and curved and jutted higher. The old man's face grew broad and flat. His rail-thin body thickened and turned red until Hellboy faced another version himself, damn near exactly the same except for the eyes.

“I know your true nature.”

“You don't know squat about me, pal.”

He reached out and grabbed Jester's horns, the ones that had grown merely to taunt him, he figured. As he'd done with his own, he snapped them off and held them like curved blades, feeling the damnation and power they represented. He hated to admit it but this was a good feeling, a familiar one. He thrust them through Jester's heart.

“Suck on that, buddy!” he shouted.

But nothing happened.

“We are destroyers,” the dark preacher said, “and we are the destroyed.”

The stone fist swung out again.

And all Hellboy had time to say was, “Oh crap.”

Then he couldn't say or think of anything because his mind and body were composed of nothing but agony. He hurtled high into the cypresses, and the land where Jester had brought God sailed away far beneath him.

The shadow children, the great seraphim, cried and crooned.

—

Clinging to the dark brush, with Duffy's hand squeezing her arm roughly, the three-eyed girl pointed to Ma'am McCulver's house and said, “There. The girl you want is inside. She's just had a baby.”

“What's that place?” Duffy asked.

“It's the granny witch's home.”

“You people and all your hag houses.”

“Looks like Jester's a granddaddy,” Deeter said. He held up the shotgun, looking for trouble, but didn't see anybody. “This young'un got himself an extra leg or nose or ear? He got a chin on his forehead? He got a red tail?”

“It's a baby girl,” the three-eyed woman told him, “and no, she's what the world calls normal.”

“What I'd call normal then too, honeypie.”

“You're a cruel malignancy.” The woman turned away, as if unable to witness the awful sight of the beautiful Ferris boys. “You'll die tonight with your brother.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“By your own misdeeds. By the hand of your master.”

“Ain't got no master, missy,” Deeter told her. “I'm my own man, and don't you forget it none 'lest I carve out your liver for you.”

“Aw, forget her ranting,” Duffy said. “She does go on and on, just like Ma if you recall.”

“I do recollect.”

“This one here, she got the brain damage, I s'pect, from that third eye growing out her head. It affects the noggin.”

“Don't see how it couldn't.”

The door to Ma'am McCulver's home, the witchy palace, opened and out came Doc Wayburn, who trundled off across town muttering to himself.

A minute later, out came John Lament, not so full of his usual vim but still looking strong and a touch larger than he should. The Ferris boys ducked down and dragged the girl with them, watching through the brush. In the moonlight Lament's white streak burned bright, and so did his eyes, filled with—well, the Ferris brothers couldn't quite tell what they were filled with. Whether it was joy or fear or a combination of both. Duffy and Deeter had run afoul of John Lament plenty of times over the years, and mostly they wound up with bleeding heads, cracked bones, and bruised egos. They'd been wanting to kill him for a month of blue Sundays, but it never seemed the right time.

“Should I put two shells in his back?” Deeter asked.

“I don't like his look of conviction. Let Jester handle him too. Makes our night a little less complicated. We're just here to get the girl and hand her over. Then we steal what we can pocket and get the hell back to Enigma, free of that crazy preacher.”

“No need to play coy,” Deeter said. “Iffun that granny wants trouble we'll give it to her. Otherwise, we march up and kick in the door, take the girl, and we're off.”

Thanks to the rain the town was brimming with puddles. They started toward the house but before they'd gotten to the porch, the door opened. Sarah stepped out holding her newborn daughter wrapped in a yellow Easter blanket.

Behind her came Ma'am McCulver and the pumpkin-headed boy who glowered and tried to look mean but just couldn't do much. Especially considering his little tuft of hair was swaying so humorously back and forth in the breeze. The boy moved out in front and met the Ferris brothers at the foot of the steps.

“What you want, jughead?” Duffy asked.

The pumpkin-headed boy hauled off and socked Duffy in the face. It was the first punch he'd ever thrown, and he seemed sad and stupefied to have thrown it at all, but at least Duffy let go of the three-eyed woman. Or at least he did so after Fishboy Lenny swam out from a mud puddle and sank his teeth back into Duffy's ankle.

Duffy yowled, looked down, and saw the godamnedest sight he'd ever seen. There was a kid down there gnawing on his foot, flapping his flipper hands around and keeping afloat in the puddle. Duffy started dancing around but the boy just looked up and his mouth was red in the porch light and his needle-sharp tiny teeth were strung with bits of Duffy's flesh.

Deeter shouted, “Hellfire!” He aimed the ten-gauge but couldn't draw a bead with all the sudden activity. The pumpkin-headed kid dove for him, grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, and tried to grapple it loose. Deeter held onto the stock with one hand and pummeled the boy to his knees with the other.

The weirdo fish kid went, “Fweep.”

“This ain't no gator, girl!”

“No,” the three-eyed woman said, “that's Lenny.”

“Fweep mwash,” went Fishboy Lenny.

“He done chewed up my foot!”

Deeter said, “I'm gonna have to shotgun him into next Sunday now. Seen that before, did you?”

“No, it was new to me.”

“Reckon you need a fourth eye for that, huh?”

“Enough,” Ma'am McCulver said, stepping into the moonlight, the pale silver illumination embracing and enhancing her beauty. Her presence was both calming and fearsome. Her black hair was a mass of wild curls that rose and reached. Fishboy Lenny tugged at the nearly unconscious pumpkin-headed boy and drew him away through the mud.

Ma'am McCulver scowled, and the wind grew louder and the storm suddenly seemed closer. The Ferris brothers didn't know what to make of any of this witchy business and simply stood there, wondering who to kill next.

Sarah said, “Please, Ma'am, this is a family argument. It's my fight and no one else's. Only I can do anythin' about it and put a stop to all the fuss.”

“I know you,” Duffy said to Sarah, “least I almost reckon I do. We seen you about.”

“You have,” she told them.

Deeter said, “You're Sarah, the girl been causin' us so much trouble.”

“Deeter Ferris,” she said, “you're one rotten soul, through and through. And how is it I've caused you any bother?”

“Well, the bother really started a bit before you was even mentioned, when we were takin' care of the lady saleswoman in the swamp, but anyways a bother you've become all right, thanks to Jester.”

Duffy released the three-eyed woman and grabbed Sarah's arm instead. Her sleeping baby sighed loudly. He held his cutting blade to Sarah's cheek, turned to Ma'am McCulver and said, “Now that's it, no more trouble! You gonna raise a hand to me, you gorgeous piece of love?”

“I won't. It will do no good.”

“Glad you reckon that. You gonna keep that jughead and fish-head away from us?”

She held out her arm and the pumpkin-headed boy climbed to his feet, stepped close to her, and laid the side of his bleeding face against her chest. Fishboy Lenny swam up and rested against her knee.