Hex Appeal (39 page)

“Imps, hellslaves, wrathmites. Call ’em what you want.”

A big, naked, hairy dude with raw pustules rotting his skin swung his scythe at us, blood and worms splashing from his mouth as he screamed. I ducked and slashed at his kidneys, and Ethan took him down and sidestepped as the head hit the concrete and broke open. The scythe clattered harmlessly away.

“That’s a nice razorcharm you used before,” Ethan persisted, as if we hadn’t been interrupted. “You been practicing?”

Yeah, right.
I’d stolen that one, too, a couple of wing-splinters I pilfered from a drunken glassfairy.

It disturbed me how much I wanted to lie, and I snorted to cover my unease. “C’mon, you know me better than that.”

“Thought I did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He flashed me that smile. “That you’re still a puzzle, Lena Falco. I just haven’t solved you yet.”

I frowned.
Enigmatic equals good, right? Or not? Shit. Who am I trying to impress, anyway?

Still, I edged closer to him, my guts tightening. The tower’s shadow darkened the street like a smoke pall. Heat scorched me deep, and it was sure getting crowded around here. Rotting creatures shambled like shopping-mall zombies. Others—the normal people, dazed and bleeding, mostly naked, mouths slack with terror—screamed and fled. Guess they were new here. Still others stalked in packs, agile and twisted, their mutated bodies sprouting scales or feathers or extra limbs. And everywhere, weapons, blades and spikes and ugly saws designed to maim.

I tried to keep focused, not to dwell on how harmless my knives were in comparison. “More cursed souls?”

“Yeah.” Ethan’s gaze darted, swift but controlled. “They all look different. Depends what kind of asshole you were in life.”

“Heh. Look at that jelly-ass one, then. Big dripping pile of smug. That’ll be you.”

“Bite me.”

Around us, the creatures closed in, and I held my knives at the ready, circling. Those huge carrion birds squawked and flapped, hellish vultures with razor-curved beaks and talons the size of my forearm. One dived for a screaming pack of starved bodies, and came up with one writhing in its grip. More birds descended, fighting to peck the victim’s eyes out, and the screaming went on long after any living person would have fallen silent.

I stared, and Ethan nudged me. “Stay frosty, marine.”

“Oh, I’m shivering. Just how good did you say I’ve gotta be to avoid this place when I’m dead?”

“Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Zombies shouldered us as they stumbled by blindly. A woman with her face peeled off leapt at me, clawing for my eyes, and I broke her rotting neck with a thrust of my elbow. Ethan slashed at a gaggle of half-man, half-worm things that writhed along the ground to snap at his ankles. Worm juice and body parts splattered the pavement, but they kept coming, their blind eyes cloudy and wet.

I took another step backwards, and Ethan’s back pressed against mine, warm and reassuring. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this, Obi-Wan,” I muttered.

“What do you want me to say? Use the force?” He took a deep breath, and with a
zing,
his magical shield shone around us, iridescent like a bubble. The worm people slapped against it, leaving wet smears. “Tower’s a hundred yards away. Stay close. Don’t let them drag you from the bubble. Okay?”

“That much I figured out for mys—” I gulped. “Uh-oh.”

From across the street, a mutant spied us, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with delight. He had a huge, naked skull and droopy ears, and his sagging belly oozed blood from open wounds that hadn’t healed.

He hollered, waving his rusty chain saw—I shit you not—and his subhuman buddies all screeched and jabbered and flailed their misshapen arms. And ran. Straight for us.

My hex pendant buzzed like a nest of angry wasps. My mouth dried, and I gripped my knives harder. “This isn’t good.”

Captain Mutant fired up his chain saw—
rnn-nn-nnn!—
and capered about like a drunken mummy. And his mutant army kept coming.

Ethan gave a feral grin. The lines on his skin glowed green, and he levitated a foot off the ground and crouched there like a bad-ass flying ninja, his blade glinting hungrily. “Bring ’em on.”

“You’re a real smart-ass, you know that?” But I couldn’t hide a smile. Sometimes, even I had to admit that Ethan was dead cool. Still, bitterness stung my mouth that I couldn’t do stuff like that. That’d I’d never had the patience to learn. “Last one there buys the whisky, okay?”

He somersaulted, carving the air a new one with his sword at least six times on the way around. “You know I don’t drink.”

I muttered a charm, and my twin blades dripped green poison. I spun them, loosening my wrists in readiness. “All the more for me.”

And with a duet of blood-rotting yells, we plunged into the fight.

*   *   *

It seemed like a hundred hours later when we finally staggered over the tower’s dark threshold and dragged the spiked-iron door shut.

The bar thunked into place. Angry mutants hammered and hurled curses, their slack flesh slapping on the metal. The hinges juddered, but it held.

I collapsed against it, breathing hard. Blood stuck my fingers together, and I unwrapped them from my knife handles with a wince. Beside me, Ethan coughed and spat red phlegm, his face splashed with hellish gore. His bubble had helped us, and we’d fought well together, but we’d taken serious damage. My head ached from blows, and my skin was ripped raw in a dozen places. I was covered in claw marks and cuts, and dripping with stinking black blood and bits of flesh. I’d nearly lost a finger. My legs hurt. My lungs hurt. Hell, my hair hurt.

Ethan wiped his nose with his sword hand, smearing blood. He was fitter than I was, but still his breath hitched. It had taken a lot out of him to keep those spells engaged, and once he’d let them slip, weariness lined his face. “Well, here we are, I guess. You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Never been better.”

I surveyed the room. Black and empty, caked with dust. A fire pit in the center threw leaping shadows on the walls. It stank of salt and blood. A broken iron staircase spiraled upwards, and hisses and moans crept from upstairs. No other way out. I craned my neck. Nothing up there but darkness. “You think Kane’s here?”

“If he were, we’d be dead already.”

“Good point. How long you think we’ve got before the helljuice wears off?”

“Not long.” He breathed, in and out, centering his energy or opening his aura or whatever, and when he opened his eyes, they shone bright, refreshed. “Let’s get on with it.”

His equivalent of a stiff drink. I sure could have used one. Or even just a rest. But no time. I sighed and wiped sticky mutant blood from my knives onto my pants. “Old guys go first?”

Ethan snickered and crept onto the staircase, and as I followed, my aching muscles eased a little. It was good to hear him laugh. Good to hear any living human sound.

The staircase turned, and we climbed, and climbed, the steps corroded and sometimes crumbling. Firelight leaked in through cracks in the walls, like some gruesome hellpit burned outside, and screams and moans twisted in the air like ghosts.

I shuddered. My hex pendant burned, but it had been screaming at me nonstop for the last few hours, and it meant nothing new. My shoulder prickled, an evil, hot breath, and I whirled, but there was no one.

I sucked in a breath, trying to slow my racing pulse. “Why is there no one here?”

“Because it’s a trap?”

“Wow, that’s really comforting.”

“You’re welcome.”

I tried to push ahead of him, to have him behind me, but he held me back with a rigid arm.

“Wh—ugh!” I stumbled back, twisting my ankle on the step, and, at our feet, a massive chunk of rotted iron shuddered and fell. Four or five spiral steps tumbled away into the dark, and though I waited several seconds, holding my breath, I didn’t hear them land.

Ethan sprang up over the gap, landed lightly on the next unbroken step and held out his hand for me. Yeah, right. Impeccable balance, light step, wiry strength. Stuff I didn’t have.

I sucked in a breath and jumped.

Evil laughter echoed, and thick darkness wrapped itself around my legs and
pulled.

I yelled and flung out a desperate magical web, but it was too far. My guts hollowed. Sparks rained, hissing, and I fell.

But Ethan flashed out his hand, and a stinging whip of light cracked like electric current. My sparks coalesced in harmony, a glittering green cascade, and the whip lashed itself around my waist and yanked me upwards.

Ethan caught me against his chest, and the magic light dissolved. I scrabbled with terrified feet for a hold, and he steadied me. “Got you. You okay?”

I caught my breath, reeling. He felt warm and safe, his arms possessive, holding on for a bit too long. Almost like he gave a damn.

I pushed away, awkward, my heart still racing from the fright. “Yeah. Thanks. What was that thing you just did?”

“No idea. Never did it before.”

“Oh, so who’s the puzzle now?” I scoffed, trying to regain my ease.

He glanced away, avoiding me. “Must be your lucky day. C’mon.”

We kept climbing and reached a smoky landing that was riddled with jagged holes. Massive iron urns lined the walls, and inside them,
things
hammered and yelled for help, desperate to escape.

My stomach churned. I coughed in the acrid smoke. “Tell me those aren’t souls in there.”

Ethan’s face was pale, and he didn’t answer.

I gripped his shoulder. Killing these things was one thing. Leaving them like this … “We have to let them out! Jesus, we can’t just—”

“This is hell, Lena.” He touched my hand, and his compassion sizzled on my skin, magnetic. “Where can they go?”

I shrugged, angry. I wasn’t used to feeling helpless. What was the point of all this power if people still suffered and died? The sooner I found the amulet and got out of this place, the better.

He brushed my cheek with his thumb, a tiny caress, then he climbed on.

The staircase spiraled more tightly, the walls closing in. Sparks leapt from the cracks and stung my face. Landing after landing, narrower and darker, the air howling with ghostly pain and fear that iced my bones. Shadows jumped and thrashed, stretching like torture victims trying to escape. Dark
things
I couldn’t see touched me, caressed me, slid hot wet lips over my skin until it crawled. I tore at my hair, batted at my face, careless of my sharp blades. “Ethan—”

“It’s okay.” His voice strained tight like wire. Around him, angry magic sparked, and the wraithlike
things
gnashed and hissed and shied away.

At last, we reached another landing, and the staircase ended. Above, the ceiling tapered to a jagged hole, and hell’s red sky glared through, casting bloody shadows. On the wall, a rusted mirror warped our reflection, and in the shaft of light lay a dusty black metal box with a spiked padlock.

We halted, and I caught my breath, glad of the light even though it scorched my face with fresh heat. “Is that a strongbox?”

Ethan nodded. “I’d say so.”

I frowned. “Did that seem too easy to you?”

“We’re not finished yet.” He inhaled, scenting for trouble, and crept forward.

I hesitated. Lightning flashed, the thunder shaking the walls, and a fine golden glint at thigh level caught my eye.

My heart skipped, and I grabbed Ethan’s arm and yanked him back.

He lurched, and recovered his balance with a little jump. “What?”

I pointed. Smoke particles drifted in the light, around a hair-thin golden wire stretching across the floor. Together, we craned our necks upwards. Above, wicked curved blades glinted, waiting to slice us into salami.

Ethan grimaced. “You’re kidding. Trip wire?”

“Crude but effective. Our demon pals have a sense of humor.”

“Terrific. Watch out for banana peel and itching powder.” He hopped over the wire, sword poised, and I followed.

The strongbox just sat there, black and boring. I eyed it suspiciously. Couldn’t be this easy. Not like a job topside, where you just break in, take stuff, and run away. Surely?

Ethan lifted two fingers, and a soft breeze whistled, blowing away the smoke. Tiny sparks crawled over the box, testing, seeping into the crack between body and lid. He shrugged, and the sparks extinguished. “I get nothing.”

“What? No alarms? No threats of imminent evisceration?”

“Not a whisper.”

“Maybe what’s inside is the kicker.”

“You think? How are you with locks?”

I whipped a shard of glowing pink fairyglass from my corset—who says you can’t use an ingredient for more than one spell?—and waved it at him. “Watch me and weep.”

I bent closer to the barbed padlock, and now that prehistoric coward inside me was really getting her voice on.
Demon box! Eek! Run!
she squealed, and, for a moment, I hesitated.

Stealing a cursed amulet from a demon lord. Not one of my safer ideas.

I glanced at Ethan, who crouched, alert, surveying the creeping darkness for threats, blood still trickling from his nose. I still didn’t get what was in this for him. Was this the part where he turned me over to Kane? Pity. I’d liked having him around. And working for a demon sorta … dirtied him. Ethan wasn’t like me, doing anything for a living. He had standards, at least I’d thought so.

But Phoebus’s whisper from the nightclub caressed my memory, tempting me reckless.
One favor, Lena Falco. No catch. Whatever you desire.

This was my big prize. Whatever the risks, it was worth it.

I gripped the glass between thumb and finger and shoved it in the padlock.

The sharp wingshard sliced my skin. Blood seeped, and pink fairy glitter puffed, intoxicating, lulling the lock’s tumblers into submission. I rooted around a bit, feeling for the springs. Click, one. The spikes on the lock jabbed into my palm. Click, two. Clickety click, three. And … clunk. Open.

Thunder rolled, threatening. Carefully, I eased the padlock from its socket on the strongbox, and laid it on the floor.