Hellhole (24 page)

“That's not how it works!”

She stormed out of the house and slammed the door, rattling the antlers of Deerzilla.

Max followed, bursting outside. The day had gotten moldy; it was the sort of heat that got caught in one's throat, that settled on the skin and didn't go away. He wiped his forehead and started down the driveway. A swampy sort of smell wafted over from the lake, biting sourly into his nostrils.

He found her near the mailbox, struggling to untangle her bike from the bush she'd left it under. Though her face was down, he could tell it was red and splotchy. She wasn't crying, though it seemed that she was on the verge.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She looked up. “I gotta go.”

“Okay.” Now Max really
was
concerned. There was something going on behind Lore's eyes, some pain he'd never seen in her before. Or in anyone, really. “Um, why are you so upset?”

With one final, useless tug, Lore let out a frustrated grunt and gave up on the bike. She paced out a wild path into the yard, then reeled back toward him, her hand pressed tightly against her forehead. “I just am. I'm an upset kind of person. It's my default setting. Okay?”

“Well, you're usually a lot more sedate than this. Not as”—he waved his hands about—“emotiony.”

“You want to know what's wrong?” She put a fist over her mouth as if to stop herself, but then pushed on. “I made a deal with my devil too. I got greedy too. Then he got even greedier. And you know what happened when I couldn't deliver?
He killed my best friend.
”

Max felt his legs go all wobbly.

“What?” he whispered.

When Lore spoke, it was in clipped sentences, as if each one hurt more than the last. “Verm's first demand was shelter, just like Burg's. I found him the trailer, and he was fine with that. But then he proposed a deal: offered me five million dollars to keep him in a perpetual drugged-out bliss. Christ, it sounds so stupid, right?” She looked away, tears squished into the corners of her eyes. “Nice round number like that, and I'm just the dumb, broke kid who's willing to do anything to get her and her family out of their dumb, broke life.”

She blinked hard. “At first it was just beer, a case a night. Problem was, he kept drinking it as fast as I could steal it. Then he wanted worse stuff—pot, painkillers, harder drugs. It got to be too much. And the day I told him I was quitting, that the deal was off—”

She bit her lip and started bouncing on the balls of her feet again. “Noah was scuba-diving on vacation with his parents in Costa Rica. Something went wrong with his tank. A freak accident, they said.”

Max's throat felt as if it had collapsed in on itself.

Was that why she was so sad all the time?

For once, Max was put into the position of The Person Who Didn't Know What To Say In The Face of Grief, as opposed to being The Person Who Deserves All Of The Pity. Having been on the receiving end of this kind of conversation countless times because of his mom, he should have had something cued up, ready to go, ready to make her feel better.

But he knew, from being that person, that nothing anyone said ever made him feel better. So he said the same useless thing people always said. “I'm so sorry.”

Her face screwed up in an effort not to cry. “Thanks.”

Her eyes hardened once again. “But Verm did it, I
know
he did.” She sniffed with violence. “So it was back to the substance stealing for me, more than before, because who knew who he'd go after next? My parents?”

Max couldn't gulp air fast enough. “No. No, Burg's not like that.”

“Don't do that, Max. Don't underestimate him. That's what I did at first too. It's a big mistake.”

“Okay, then what's your plan? It's not like I can politely ask Burg to leave and never come back. How did you get rid of yours?”

“I told you, I don't know. He was gunning so hard for all this stuff, wearing me into the ground, then one day he was just . . . gone.” She bit her lip. “That's why I didn't want to help you at first. I thought he was back, and . . .” She shivered. “I couldn't do that again. I couldn't.”

“Well, maybe Burg will just disappear too.”

“No.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You can't count on that—it could have been a fluke, for all we know. Verm said devils get to come up to the surface only once a century, and from the way Burg is acting, he's planning on prolonging it for as long as he can. There's no guarantee that you'll be as lucky. So
cancel the deal.
”

Max felt as if he were drowning. He glanced at the house, then back to Lore. “I . . . can't,” he heard himself say.

“Why?”

He felt the hope draining out of him. It sank through to his feet, onto the ground, and filtered out into the front lawn. Weakened, Max let it drag him down with it, collapsing his butt onto the ground.

“My mom's gonna die anyway,” he whispered, his head in his hands. “Whether he kills her or her rotten heart does. It's just a question of when. So if I've got nothing to lose, why
not
ask for a cure?”

“Do you really need me to list the reasons?” Lore angrily brushed the hair out of her face. “Because he's evil! You can't trust him! He's too unpredictable!”

“That's just Burg being Burg. He's infuriating, but he isn't
that
heartless.”

“Really, Max? Satan ‘isn't that heartless'?”

Max had no idea why he felt the need to defend Burg, but the need was there just the same. “Hey, we found the house. Now he'll cure my mom. He'll have to.”

“News flash, Max: he doesn't
have
to do anything.”

“I just—I really think you're overreacting.”

“And you are completely underreacting!”

He shook his head. “Sorry, but I've gotta do this. I've gotta try.”

She started to back away slowly, almost as if she were scared of him. “Then that's on you,” she said. “Whatever happens, that's on you.”

She dived into the shrub for her bike, wrestled it out, and looked back at him one more time before pedaling off.

“You know, Max,” she said, her eyes hard, “for a supposedly upright citizen, you're pretty good at being bad.”

MAX BIKED HOME ALONE.
He stomped up the driveway. He stomped through the kitchen. He quietly stomped to his mother's room to check in on her. He was about to stomp into the basement when he glanced toward the bathroom and noticed a certain pantless demon standing in front of the mirror, squirting a tube of toothpaste into his mouth.

“What are you doing in here?” Max said, irritated.

“I had to take a whiz, then I got hungry.”

“You're not supposed to eat toothpaste.”

“Really? Then why do they make it so zesty?”

“Okay, fine. Whatever.” Max rubbed his eyes.

Burg squinted at him. “What's the matter, Shove? You look paler and sicker and grosser than usual.”

“Thanks.”

Burg slung an arm around Max's shoulder and pulled him out into the hallway and down into the basement. “Why don't you step into Dr. Cluttermuck's office and tell him all about what's bothering you.” He gave him a push, causing Max to fall onto the sofa.

“Well, for one thing, you got me shitfaced last night, and now I can't consume any food or drink without wanting to hurl.”

“You're welcome. But I can tell that's not what has your knickers, unnecessary as they may be, in a twist.”

Max stayed silent.

Burg poked him. “Is it about school? Work? Your awful hair? A girl?”

Max tried not to react, but his eyebrow betrayed him.

“A girl?” Burg poked him harder.

Max relented. He didn't want to talk about this to anyone, especially not the one who was making his life a living . . . well, hell. But if anyone knew anything about the cruel games people could play on one another, he couldn't have found a better expert than a bona fide devil.

Burg sat next to him, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, a small wisp of smoke rising from the friction. “So . . . who is it?”

Max gave him an obvious look. “Uh, Lore.”

Burg cocked his head. “Really? Her?”

“Okay, never mind,” Max said, getting up.

Burg grabbed the tail of Max's shirt and pulled him back onto the couch. “No, stay, stay. I personally would have pursued the fine specimen that so conveniently lives next door to you, and not the lumpy Catholic-schoolmarm. But please, proceed with your stupid problem.”

“She's so weird. She acts like she doesn't care—about, like,
anything
—but then she gets all mad at me about the decisions I make. Like the things I'm doing personally offend her, like I do them specifically to hurt her.”

“So ask her why she sucks.”

Max was starting to wonder if this might not be the soundest advice in the world. “I don't think that's—”

“I mean, she's probably hiding something from you,” Burg said, patting him on the shoulder. “If that helps.”

“How do you know?”

“Everybody lies. Your mom lies. Your history teacher lies. You lie, and like a pro at that. How many times have you borne false witness in the past twenty-four hours?”

“More than I can count.”

“Well, there you have it. Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“But—”

“Fibber, fibber, baby back ribber.”

“I get it.”

“Perjurer, perjurer—”

“Okay, enough,” Max said, though the crossword whiz in him wondered what Burg had possibly planned to rhyme with “perjurer.” “You're probably right.”

“Good. So strap her to a set of train tracks until she talks.”

“Or
I respect her privacy and wait until she's comfortable with telling me.”

Burg burst out laughing. Then he laughed some more. Two full minutes later he wiped his eyes. “Oh, Shovel. You're never going to get laid with that attitude.”

“I'm not
trying
to get laid,” Max said, though admittedly it wouldn't be the worst thing. “I'm just trying to get to know her better. But how can I do that if she won't let me?”

Burg stroked his chin. “Have you
told her how you feel?
” he asked in a mocking, disgusted voice.

Max looked at his hands. “I don't really know how I feel. I like her. She's funny. She's the only girl besides Audie who's ever even looked at me. She's pretty . . .”

The skeptical look on Burg's face made him trail off.

“Well,” Max said quietly, “
I
think she's pretty.”

“Then knock off a florist shop and drop a rosebush at her front door. Chicks love that stuff.”

“I don't think Lore would.” Max massaged his temples. “I don't think she's interested in me at all.”

“Well, in her defense, have you seen you?”

“Forget it,” Max said with a sigh. “I don't expect you to understand what it's like to be such an oddball.”

Burg was quiet for a moment.

“Actually, Shove, I kinda do.”

Max knew he'd come to regret humoring him, yet he did it anyway. “Why?”

Burg scratched at the skin around his horns. “Well . . . everyone else in hell
loves
it down there. Can't get enough of the place. I mean, don't get me wrong—I love causing suffering and human misery just as much as the next guy. But you know what I love even more? This.” Burg gestured to the ratty basement walls. “Being on earth. Sure, we've got anything and everything we need in hell, but we don't have—well, we don't have you. Humans. You dudes are fascinating, you know that?”

Max stared at him, his mouth slightly ajar. Burg had emotions? Burg had intellectual curiosity? Burg thought about stuff besides reality television and snacks?