Cast in Hellfire: An Urban Fantasy Romance (The Mage Craft Series Book 2) (10 page)

“I need to know
everything
about you,” he said. “We’ll have dinner tonight so that we can talk, you and me.”

“I’m not doing anything without my friends,” she said.

“The ‘friends’ who make you hide your truth.” They didn’t make her do anything. It was Charity’s choice—her way of keeping them from fearing her, a way to blend in. But what did Arawn know about that? He didn’t know her. He didn’t know Seth. “You should dress in proper attire.”

She didn’t have anything else to wear, but Charity was pretty sure he meant her revenant form.

“Not a chance in Hell,” she said.

S
eth had discovered
that he could teleport by accident thirteen years earlier, and he’d resisted using the talent for a long time. He didn’t know where the ability came from. He didn’t know if it had a cost. Would it hurt him? The world around him? He wasn’t sure.

His greatest fear had been getting spotted by a witness and losing his job as a doctor. That was no longer a threat.

Seth had no reason to avoid teleporting now.

He still couldn’t leap back to Earth. But when he concentrated, he managed to jump from Marion’s cold, dingy cell in Arawn’s tower to the hallway six inches away. He stood immobile for a few moments, shocked that the teleportation had worked.

It wasn’t that the ability had left him. Only the ability to leave Sheol.

That idea was equal parts disturbing and relieving. He couldn’t go home, but he’d be able to jump back into Marion’s cell once he was ready.

To save her
, Seth told himself.

That wasn’t where his thoughts were focused.

He could jump right back in and join Marion on the bed, where her blood was smeared like chocolate sauce drizzled over ice cream. Even now that she wasn’t dying, it still smelled like the promise of death. Her weak heart was calling to him from the other side of the wall.

“Damn,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to the door.

What kind of monster was Seth becoming? He was a doctor who refused to stay with a woman in need. A doctor who couldn’t stop obsessing about her death.

Do no harm
.

Seth punched the wall, hard enough that his knuckles cracked. It didn’t hurt. Very few things hurt anymore—physically, at least.

The way that Marion had looked at him before he left had hurt.

He needed to find Charity.

None of Arawn’s gang were guarding the hallway outside of the cell. They must not have thought there was a chance that Seth and Marion would be able to get out. And if Seth had been properly human, then that would have been correct. Between a mage who was allergic to her very surroundings and a mortal man, there was no way that they should have escaped.

Seth checked the other cells on that level, but they all stood empty. Wherever Arawn had put Charity, it wasn’t in his dungeon.

A narrow paternoster waited at the end of the hall. It was an open-sided elevator that never stopped moving, requiring light feet to jump on and off on the desired floor. Rattling chains groaned as it chugged in an endless loop.

Seth stepped onto it. He descended to the next level and stepped off just as quickly.

He found himself in what passed for a home in Sheol. The hallway was cozier than the one above, if skeletons standing on pedestals like suits of armor could be considered cozy. The iron chandeliers were arguably similar to Halloween decorations. There were mirrors framed with black thorns.

None of the elaborate dressing could conceal the stark, industrial structure lying underneath. Rusty pipes embedded in the ceiling dripped steadily, leaving black puddles on the cement.

At least the ceilings were eight feet tall. Seth didn’t feel like he was going to be buried alive while walking around.

Arawn’s voice echoed down the hall. Seth followed the murmur to a pair of open doors, which led into sitting room.

At that point, Seth was unsurprised to see that Arawn’s furniture was made of bones and leather and iron. Dramatic stuff. Didn’t matter the era, before or after Genesis—demons loved the macabre. Arawn was no exception. It must have been boring to be such a stereotype.

The Lord of Sheol himself stood in front of a sphere the size of a bowling ball, which was lifted on a pedestal. Colors swirled over the surface. The steam billowing from its edges reminded Seth of dry ice.

The faint outline of a woman hovered over the sphere, her face level with Arawn’s. “I know,” she was saying. “I saw them first.”

“They’re going to want the Canope. Bring it to me,” Arawn said.

“I’m not doing anything that will send the Hounds into populated areas.”

“Did it sound like I was asking?” He gripped the sphere with one hand, fingers splayed across her face, like he longed to choke the woman. “I’m
telling
you to bring the Canope to me, and you better make it fast if you don’t want to piss me off.”

“Would you use that tone if you weren’t speaking through the distant safety of a palantír?”

Arawn snarled. He sounded like the long-legged white dog that his gang had dragged around on a chain. “All right, try this on for size. Bring the Canope to me right now,
bitch
, or I’ll—”

“Urinate yourself and curl into a shivering ball?”

“Bitch,” he said again. “I know you took the Canope into Duat. I could come get it myself.”

Duat?
Seth eased back behind the shelter of the door and pulled Dana’s map out of his pocket. Duat was a large city within walls called the Bronze Gates. There was no ruler for scale, but Seth estimated that it wouldn’t have been a long walk—less than a day, if it had been on Earth.

That distance would be neither easy nor short in Sheol. There was no civilization between the hive and the Bronze Gates, and Dana had recommended avoiding the Dead Forest.

He could probably teleport into Duat, but not until he found Charity. And he wasn’t going to teleport Marion again at all if he could avoid it.

Arawn continued bickering with the woman in the palantír. Seth slipped back from the doorway, darting along the relative safety of the shadowy hall edges to return to the paternoster. The echoing voices chased him all the way back until they were overwhelmed by rattling chains.

Duat. I have to get to Duat
. Seth’s mind was clearer once he had a goal more tangible than “don’t think about killing Marion.”

He returned to the cells on the higher floor without encountering another guard.

Every door was closed. He got no sense of life from any other cell he passed.

The only person on the floor with him was Marion.

Marion, and her beating heart, struggling in the harsh climate of the Nether Worlds.

Before Genesis, angels hadn’t been allowed into Hell, in much the same way that demons hadn’t been allowed into Heaven. Seth had been told that the restrictions had been in place to prevent invasion. Now he believed that they might have been in order to protect the angels and demons, too.

He never should have brought Marion there.

Seth jolted when he heard the murmur of voices coming from Marion’s cell. All those years he’d spent fighting the urge to teleport were forgotten instantly. He leaped inside of Marion’s room.

A tall form loomed over Marion’s bed, bending over her supine body.

Seth didn’t have his guns—didn’t have any weapons at all. They’d been stripped away by Arawn’s guards.

He gripped the shoulder of the man standing over Marion’s bed. “Get away from her!”

“Seth,” Marion said, “wait!”

The man spun at Seth’s touch. He had violet eyes, copper skin, black hair. And his features were etched with rage.

Prince ErlKonig of the Autumn Court.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Seth asked.

“That’s exactly what I was about to ask you,” Konig said. “
Both
of you.”

W
ith Konig’s
arm around her shoulders, Marion suspected she was meant to feel secure.

In reality, she felt like a child being punished. Forced to sit in time out.

Konig stared at Marion like he never planned to let her out of his sight ever again, even as he answered the question that Seth had asked. “Ley lines extend into all of the planes. They’re most common in the Middle Worlds, but they’ve got tendrils all the way into the Nether Worlds too. That’s how I got here. I only needed to jump.”

Marion kept her gaze fixed to her hands in her lap. She was holding a spare pair of glasses that Konig had brought from the Winter Court. She appreciated the thoughtfulness, even though she was reluctant to put them on. She sort of preferred being unable to see the dripping cell she was locked in.

“Nori told you where I went,” she said.

“Yeah, you left her in a ton of shit,” Konig said. “The angels won’t even talk to us unless you’re involved.”

“But you said you wanted to handle it yourself. You planned to play hardball because I was too close to the angels after the summit,” she said.

“Oh, so you think you can turn this around on me? You’re blaming me for
your
failure to lead?”

Marion knitted her fingers together. “You said—”

“You’re supposed to be steward,” Konig said. “I came to help you. You should be thanking me, not leaving me to babysit your cousin Nori.”

Her throat burned.

It wouldn’t have been so painful to be lectured if his harsh words hadn’t rung with truth.

“We don’t need to negotiate a deal with the angels if I find my memories. I’ll be able to protect the Winter Court once I’ve got my full power back.”

“The Winter Court doesn’t need your memories,” Konig said. “It needs
you
.” He gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. His lips quivered with anger as he breathed hard through his nose. “
I
need you, princess. What would I do without you?”

Seth had remained on the edge of the room until that moment. When Konig became rough, Seth materialized. “You should take your hands off of her.” It was amazing how he could manage to sound mild and threatening at the same time.

Konig’s hands only tightened on Marion. “You should stay out of something that has nothing to do with you.”

“We’re close to my memories, Konig,” she said, drawing his attention back to her. She hated the way that the men glared at each other. She didn’t want to be in the middle if they decided to go for one another’s throats. “Arawn’s the one who bought the Canope, and that’s where we are—his home.”

“His dungeon,” Konig said scornfully.

“The Canope’s not here. While I was doing reconnaissance, I heard him say that it’s in Duat,” Seth said.

“Great.” Marion slid out from under Konig’s arm, trying not to wince at the motion. She put her wire-rimmed glasses on. The arms wrapped around the backs of her ears. “You can teleport us there.”

For the first time, Konig seemed to notice the state of her clothes. “Good gods! What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Marion said. Being treated like a child seemed to have rendered her petulant. She couldn’t help it.

Konig slammed his fist into the opposite palm. “You’re a half-angel in the Nether Worlds. I should have realized—no,
you
should have realized! I’m taking you back to the Winter Court right now.”

She wrenched herself away from the bed. “I’m not going anywhere until I have my memories back!” The spike in adrenaline made her start coughing again. Each time, it felt like having a car slammed into her chest.

Through watering eyes, she noticed that Seth recoiled.

Konig’s face melted into patient annoyance. “I’ll heal you, princess.” He’d done it before when Marion had gotten stabbed by the leader of the ethereal faction. She’d felt cold for hours to come. But at least he would touch her, help her, take care of her. He wasn’t recoiling.

“Thank you, Konig,” she said pointedly, glaring at Seth.

Konig pressed one hand against her chest, the other against her back. Ice flowed through Marion.

She coughed twice. The first time, she expelled more of that foul-tasting gunk. The second time, her lungs breathed clear.

The sweet, flowery perfume of orchids wafted around her. It was even more of a relief than feeling the weight in her chest lift—a touch of the Autumn Court’s beauty in the relentless brimstone darkness of Sheol.

“How do you feel?” Konig asked, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Good enough to hunt down the Canope,” she said. “I’m not leaving without it. The sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner we can get something done.”

He snorted. “You’re so damn
difficult
.”

“That’s what you like about me, isn’t it?” Marion felt good enough to smile at him—that teeth-flashing, dimpled-cheek smile that often turned resistance into instant obedience.

Konig knew her well enough not to fall for it, but he did laugh. “My princess wants this…thing, this Canope?” He shrugged. “Then let’s get your Canope.” He plucked at her shirt. “Take this off.”

Marion hastened to obey. The camisole underneath wasn’t entirely clean, but it was an improvement over the blouse. “We can’t just ‘get’ the Canope. We need a plan.”

“Oh, please. I know what I’m doing,” Konig said.

He walked over to the door and tried to open it. Confusion flashed through his eyes when he found it locked.

That was how he’d entered the room. He had waltzed in and let it shut behind him without seeming to consider that the door might open to let him in, but not to let him out.

“Let me try,” Marion said, edging toward the door. “I’m sure that I can get us out of here.” Her slowness to approach was only partially due to the weakness of her body. Konig was a wall of anger on her left, and Seth was eerie calm to her right. It felt like willingly wedging herself between the rock and the hard place.

The only way out was to pass through the door.

Marion’s specialty was doors.

She knocked. The sound resonated through that plane and others.

The door swung open to expose another of those cramped, dirty hallways.

“I didn’t think your magic would work in Sheol,” Konig said.

That was the thing—Marion’s magic likely wouldn’t work in Sheol, even if she remembered it. But opening doors wasn’t magic. It was because she had the attention of entities who could open doors for her, anywhere she was, in any world, at any time.

The gods truly could see her
anywhere
.

That shouldn’t have been such an unsettling thought.

Konig strode into the hallway.

“Wait,” Marion said, hurrying to follow him.

Arawn was on the rising paternoster as though he’d felt them opening the door to his cell. Konig strode toward him. He must not have realized that the unassuming man with a goatee and apron was a Lord of Sheol.

“Get back here,” Marion hissed.

Konig marched on Arawn. The sidhe prince looked strangely small in the hallway, even though he was a very tall man, and it took Marion a moment to realize that it was because he had none of his usual unseelie aura. He wasn’t cloaked in magic. He didn’t warp reality or even glitter.

Outside of the Middle Worlds, Konig was little more than a man.

Conversely, Arawn was in his element. The air darkened around him when he realized there was an intruder, and Marion felt light-headed, as though the oxygen were being removed from her veins molecule by molecule. “Who are you?” Arawn asked.

“I’m Prince ErlKonig of the Autumn Court. You’re risking war with me by holding my princess captive, Lord of Sheol.” Evidently he did recognize Arawn’s power.

“War? Yeah, right. I’m shivering in my boots. Where did you come from?” With a flick of his wrist, Arawn was suddenly holding a switchblade—nothing compared to the swords Konig normally wielded, but the prince hadn’t come armed. Arawn looked to have used the blade recently. It was rusted and dripping.

“No,” Marion whispered.

But Konig didn’t try to attack. “I challenge you to duel in the manner of the gentry.”

Arawn barked a laugh. “A
duel
?”

Marion would have laughed too, except that it wasn’t funny. They were in Sheol—a place where demons dwelled in giant hives and the walls dripped blood.

Duels were gentlemanly. Totally suitable for the sidhe. Totally unsuitable for Hell.

“Yes, a duel,” Konig said. “When I win, you’ll release my princess to my custody.”

“And everyone else,” Marion said. “Charity and Seth, specifically.”

Konig shot a look at her. “Yes, you’ll release all your prisoners. If you win—which you won’t—I’ll arrange for my parents to pay you a hefty bounty. They’re the King and Queen of the Autumn Court. They can give you virtually any prize.”

“This…dueling thing.” Arawn gestured with the knife when he spoke, not threateningly. “This is a tradition you people have up in the Middle Worlds?”

“The sidhe gentry, yes,” Konig said.

Arawn smirked. “
Gentry
. How
pretty
.” He touched the tip of the knife to Konig’s breastbone, and the prince squared off, glaring at him regally. “I like the idea of it. I’ll duel you for the freedom of your pretty little princess. When you lose…” Arawn flicked the knife. It flashed in the darkness. “I’ll take a pound of flesh from whichever one of you I want. And I’ll keep taking it every day until there’s no flesh left to take.”

He was looking at Marion with those shark-like eyes. It was clear whom he had in mind for his pounds of flesh.

She wanted to turn and run. To refuse. To find another way out.

But Konig said, “Agreed.”

I
t turned
out that Arawn hadn’t been coming to Marion’s cell because he’d felt Konig’s intrusion. He had been retrieving them for a formal dinner. To commemorate the occasion, the Lord of Sheol had changed into a high-necked suit—black jacket on black shirt, leather on leather. Seth imagined that the brass-edged goggles nesting in his hair were his formal goggles.

Arawn’s dining room was as cramped as the rest of the hive, though it had less to do with inadequate floor space and more to do with the meat hooks lining one wall. The slabs hanging from those hooks had no visible legs or arms—only stumps where they had been severed—so Seth could imagine that those were sides of beef. He’d slaughtered a few cows while working at a ranch. Killed them with bolts to the brain, hung them up, skinned them, let them drain.

It had been fast and humane. Something that the ranch had done to earn income.

One of Arawn’s gang leaned against a slab of meat, casually carving another slab as she spoke. The demons laughed, they slapped the bloody flesh, they stripped away tendon to chew upon. They tossed some of the scraps to the snarling white dog chained against the wall.

Seth doubted that the way that meat had been killed was humane.

He also doubted that the meat was bovine in origin.

Seth was more grateful than ever that Marion had been unable to walk to the paternoster for dinner, and even that Konig had stayed behind to care for her. She didn’t need to see what Arawn considered to be fancy décor. And she didn’t need to see how fixated Seth was on all that death.

Arawn shoved Seth toward the table. “Take a seat.” There were three chairs, three place settings. A dozen demons from his gang were already lounging around the room, so the place settings clearly were only for the supposed guests of honor.

Charity appeared in the far doorway, entering from another part of the tower. She looked even more shrunken and nervous than usual, which was saying a lot. In her human form, she was so much smaller than all of the burly demons, and she looked especially innocuous among the leather-clad gang in her baggy sweater.

“Charity. Are you okay?” Seth asked.

“Yes, I’m—yes, fine,” she said, eyes flicking toward Arawn. The Lord of Sheol had walked to the hooks to chat with his gang. He tossed a bottle of vodka to a demon, and they laughed raucously, shattering an empty bottle on the floor.

“Did Arawn do anything to you?” Seth asked in a lowered voice.

“That’s what’s weird. He’s being really…” Charity shrugged uncomfortably. “Nice.”

Of all the words Seth might have used to describe a demon of Arawn’s stature, “nice” wouldn’t have been among them, especially since Arawn had been threatening to take a “pound of flesh” from someone in their party. After seeing his dining room, Seth expected that threat to be literal.

It was much too easy to imagine Marion hanging from one of those hooks. He’d probably mount her on the one at the head of the room. Demons would love to have a half-angel. The only woman who could perform magecraft was an exquisitely rare prize.

The very idea of it made Seth’s blood boil, just as much as it made him salivate.

“I told you to sit,” Arawn called over to them. Seth and Charity took two of the positions at the table. The dishes were fancy china, the napkins black linen, the chairs hand-carved wood. “And now you could consider thanking me for my hospitality, if you were going to be properly grateful.”

Charity didn’t seem to hear him. She was gazing at the wall, pale-lipped and trembling.

Seth followed her gaze.

In the dim corner, barely touched by the light of the candelabra, skins had been stretched out on ropes. Someone was practicing tattoos on the skins. It looked to be common practice in Arawn’s tower, because most of the skins had old drawings etched into them.

Those
definitely
weren’t cow skins.

Arawn flopped into the third chair. “I appreciate that you chose to join me for dinner,” he said, kissing Charity’s knuckles.

She jerked her hand out of his grip. “Well, I was hungry.”

“I sure hope you are.”

“I’m not,” Seth said. “I only came to talk business with you, Arawn. What will it take to buy the Canope off of you? I have money.”

“So do I,” Arawn said.

“Then what do you want?” Seth asked. “Tell me. I can get you almost anything.”

“What if I told you that I want a mage girl’s essence trapped in a jar? What if that’s the whole point?”