Hades (37 page)

slipped out the door. “Thank you—for everything.”

When she was gone, I went through the motions of

washing my face and brushing my teeth. I paid meticulous

attention to each routine. Everything felt different to me now.

I was acutely aware of the warm water running in rivulets

over my body, the feel of the clean cotton towels against my

skin. Every movement felt new, as if I were experiencing it

for the first time. It occurred to me that I might be in Hel , but

I was stil alive. I was stil a living, breathing, talking person.

Not for much longer.

I stepped out of the bathroom to find Jake half sitting, half

slumped on the sofa, staring into space with his chin

pressed into his hand. The black tailcoat lay discarded on

the floor along with the white bow tie. He had his

shirtsleeves rol ed up to the elbows as if in preparation for

strenuous work. The room smel ed strongly of cigarettes.

Jake had poured himself a large tumbler of scotch, and it

seemed to have steadied his nerves. He held the bottle up

to see if I wanted to join him, but I shook my head. I didn’t

want my thoughts muddled by alcohol. I moved around him,

straightened the cushions on the sofa, tipped out the

contents of the ashtray, and rearranged the items on my

dressing table. Eventual y, I ran out of things to distract me

and there was nothing left to do but climb into the vast bed,

huddle into a corner, and wait for morning. It was clear

neither of us would be getting any sleep. Jake didn’t try and

talk to me; he was like a statue, locked in his own world. I

hugged my knees and waited patiently for the terror I

expected to final y break over me like a tidal wave. But it

refused to come. I had no idea what time it was. There was

a digital clock by the phone, but I tried not to look at it. I

couldn’t help sneaking a look once and saw that it was

three forty-five A.M. The minutes seemed to stretch for an

eternity because when I looked again only a few minutes

had passed. Jake and I remained lost in our own private

thoughts.

I hoped my last thoughts before I lost consciousness

would be of Xavier. I tried to imagine a fairy-tale ending for

him with an adoring wife and five children. Phantom would

live with them and the house would be ful of music and

laughter. On Sundays he would coach the local Little

League team. Xavier would think of me from time to time,

usual y in moments of solitude. But he would think of me

only as a distant memory, as the high school sweetheart

who’d left a mark on his heart but was never destined to be

part of his future.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Jake’s voice cut

through my reverie like a blade. “I don’t blame you. He

would never have done anything so stupid—he at least

protected you. You must despise me now more than you

ever did.”

“I don’t want to spend my last hours being angry, Jake,” I

said. “What’s done is done—there’s no point blaming you

now.”

“I promise I wil fix this, Bethany,” he said fiercely. “I won’t

let them harm you.” His refusal to accept the reality in front

of us was becoming irritating.

“Look, I know you’re used to cal ing the shots and al ,” I

said. “But even you can’t change this.”

“We could run,” Jake muttered, talking rapidly as his

mind desperately searched for solutions. “But al the exits

here are guarded. Even if we managed to outsmart the

guards we wouldn’t get far. Maybe I could bribe one of them

to let us into the Wasteland …”

I wasn’t real y listening. I didn’t want to hear his far-

fetched ideas and I wished he would just be quiet for a

while.

“We stil have time before dawn,” Jake continued, talking

to himself now. “I’l come up with something.”

23

Blood Sports

WHEN the Hades’ dawn broke, I wasn’t prepared for it and

neither was Jake. Voices outside in the hal blasted through

the silence and jolted us both out of our trance-like states. I

was surprised to find I hadn’t closed my eyes al night. I was

stil sitting stiffly under the covers, with my knees drawn up

to my chin. Jake sprang up from his position on the couch,

glaring at the door with a venomous expression.

“They’re here,” he announced in a voice ful of doom.

When the door opened it revealed an entourage that

included Diego, Asia, and several other demons I only

vaguely recognized. No less than four hulking bodyguards

accompanied them.

“Sure you’ve got enough backup there?” Jake growled,

his dark eyes flashing with fury.

“Big Daddy anticipated you might put up a fight,” Diego

gave him a lopsided grin and flicked his head in my

direction. “Take her.”

The tank-like guards stormed into the room and soon I

felt their vast hands close around my forearms, hauling me

easily out of bed like a rag dol . I was stil barefoot and in

my nightgown. I stumbled when they tied my wrists roughly

together with rope and used it to pul me unceremoniously

across the room.

“Don’t manhandle her!” Jake took a step toward me and

the other demons sprang, immediately closing in on him. It

was appal ing to see his brothers and sisters turn on him so

quickly. In the chaos, he disappeared from view and al I

could hear was a chorus of vicious snarling and spitting.

The fear was beginning to wel up in me now and I couldn’t

stop myself from shaking.

“Beth!” I could hear Jake cal ing to me, his voice fil ed

with desperation. “Beth, I won’t let them go through with it!”

But I didn’t believe him and I could tel he didn’t either. Al

conviction was gone from his voice.

The guards pushed me roughly down the passage and

headed for the lobby. The others fol owed, casual y chatting

among themselves. When I caught her eye, Asia winked at

me. In the lobby, Tucker appeared out of nowhere, his face

a mask of distress. I could tel from the haunted look in his

eyes that he’d heard the news. I tried not to look at him as

we passed. I didn’t want to make him feel any worse.

“Beth!” he yel ed as the procession passed him. He

lunged forward, trying to fight his way through the throng of

demons to reach me. Nash snapped his fingers, and with a

sickening crunch, Tuck’s legs buckled beneath him. He

cried out and I heard the sharp crack of bones breaking as

he crumpled to the ground. I craned my neck to look back at

him as I was shoved through the revolving glass doors.

“It’s okay, Tuck,” I cal ed. “I’l be okay!” I glared furiously at

Nash, who was striding casual y alongside me. “Fix him,” I

said in a thin voice. “Your vendetta against me has nothing

to do with him.”

“You’re real y not in a position to be making demands,”

Nash replied pleasantly.

A fleet of black Escalades was waiting for us in the tunnel

outside the hotel. I was bundled brusquely into the front one,

sitting between Asia and Diego. Up close, they reeked of

cigarette smoke, hard liquor, and pungent perfume. I slid

down in my seat and tried to regulate my breathing, tel ing

myself I wasn’t truly going to die. Something would happen;

someone would come to my rescue. They had to.

“Take us to the Ninth Circle,” Diego told the driver. “And

take the back route.”

“At least you get to check out from Big Daddy’s pad,”

Asia told me. “How’s that for VIP treatment?”

I bit my lip and didn’t respond. I focused on the gliding of

the car as it sped through the pockmarked underground

tunnels of Hades. The fear had crept from my bel y into my

chest now and was snaking its icy fingers up my throat,

cutting off my air supply. I swal owed hard, determined not

to give them the satisfaction of seeing me lose control.

To get to the Ninth Circle we had to travel deeper

underground and when the cars stopped I saw that we were

in a vast and ancient amphitheater at the very core of the

earth, its center strewn with red sand. The stands were

packed as if the entire populace of Hades had been invited

to witness this momentous event. Lucifer and the seven

other Originals occupied the sheltered seats in the highest

tier, where they watched the proceedings with zeal, as if

they were expecting a show. Human servants refil ed their

goblets and offered platters of food. On a raised platform in

the center of the arena rose a tal wooden stake. Its base

had been driven into the ground. A pile of dry sticks and

straw had been arranged in a pyramid around it. The

flammable material reached halfway up the stake, around

where I calculated my waist would be.

The executioner was not a hooded medieval figure as I’d

expected but a man in a business suit, his clothes so

understated he might have passed for a bank clerk. It was

only his sunken gray cheeks and colorless lips that made

him look like death personified. When his scabby hands

reached for me my skin crawled at his cold touch. Although

he was withered looking I was no match for his wiry

strength. He untied my wrists and pinned my arms behind

me so that I was pressed against the stake. I remained

motionless as he used even thicker ropes to bind my arms,

waist, and feet to the stake. He pul ed the ropes so tight

they chafed and cut into my skin. The sticks and straw bit at

my bare feet and ankles, but I couldn’t move an inch. The

crowd watched the proceedings with a sense of mounting

excitement. I tried to keep my eyes turned upward and to

dissociate myself with what was happening to my body. But

I couldn’t keep my thoughts from taking a gruesome turn.

How long would it take for a victim to burn—minutes or

hours? Did the body burn in sections from the feet up?

Would I pass out from the pain before my skin began to

melt? Would physical burning or asphyxiation be the actual

cause of death?

When he was satisfied that I was securely tied, the

executioner stood back to survey his work. Someone in the

crowd passed him a rusty can of gasoline and he began to

douse the straw with it. The caustic smel wafted up and

burned my nostrils. My heart was beating so fast, I thought it

would explode through my rib cage. The metal ic taste of

fear fil ed my mouth, but I didn’t cry out, scream, or beg for

mercy. My mind and body were churning relentlessly, but I

didn’t let the terror show on my face.

“This,” the executioner croaked in my ear, “is what

happens to those who serve the wrong master. Heaven’s

gone bankrupt, haven’t you heard?” He jumped off the

platform.

Lucifer rose to his feet and the crowd fel instantly silent.

He looked around for a moment, his eyes seeming to

absorb everything, down to the last minute detail. He didn’t

speak, just slowly raised his hand as a signal for the

execution to begin.

It was the simplest, most casual gesture, but it resulted in

the crowd letting out an uproarious cheer. His power over

them was absolute. It was frightening to watch how they

both feared and adored him. When he motioned for silence

the result was instantaneous and every sound was

extinguished as if someone had flicked a switch. A deep

hush fel over the crowd as the executioner struck a long

match, held it aloft for a moment, and then dropped it with a

theatrical sweep of his arm onto the gasoline-doused

construction. The flames roared up with lightning speed.