Hell’s Heroes

EXECUTIVE BOARD

→ Bec and Lord Loss move on eventually, up another set of stairs, to a different part of the demon master’s palace. Blood drips from his doughy flesh as he floats along, but it’s not his own. Bec is silent, head bowed, brooding.

I’m thinking about Bo Kooniart. It seems like a lifetime since I last saw her, racing back into a demon-infested town in search of her horrible father and pain of a brother. Bo was one of the actresses in Slawter, a movie about demons made by a crazed director who decided to use real-life monsters in the name of art.

I despised Bo. Her father, Tump Kooniart, was a powerful agent, which was the only reason she and her brother were cast in the film. He was working in league with the director and Lord Loss. He thought the Demonata would spare him and his children. He thought wrong.

Bo was a spoilt, snobbish, sneering little brat. But when the demons ran riot and our lives hung in the balance, she acted selflessly, heroically. We might not have escaped without her help. Then, rather than follow us to freedom, she went back to try and rescue her father and brother.

I assumed Bo had been killed along with the hundreds of others who died, but Lord Loss must have spared her and taken her to his own universe, where he could torture her at his leisure.

When I realised Bo was still alive, trapped in that chamber of nightmares, I felt that I was directly to blame. Lord Loss authorised the attack on the film set in order to wreak revenge on Dervish and me. All those people died because of us. Bo is in torment because of me. I feel compelled to cross and break her out. But I don’t dare, not until I’ve decided what to do about Bec. I might get away with one sneak attack on Lord Loss’s kingdom, but never two.

The tour continues. Bec is quiet for the most part and looks gloomy, but I’m sure I’d look a lot worse in her position. How can she walk alongside that beast so calmly? Unless she’s considering joining him…

I wish they’d have a conversation about it. In movies, the villain always gives his plan away by talking too much and revealing his secrets. But Lord Loss never discusses Bec’s state of mind. There’s no mention of the war between the Demonata and mankind, or what role he wants Bec to play in it.

The pair enter a room filled with chess boards and the demon master’s face lights up. After our showdown in Slawter, he said I’d spoilt chess for him, but that’s not true. He’s still a fanatic, as evidenced by the care he takes of the boards and the way he describes them to Bec, telling her where he got them, the games he’s played, the opponents he’s faced.

“Did you carve any of these yourself?” Bec asks.

“No,” he says morosely. “I started to, several times, but chess is like a religion for me. Whenever I sat down to make a set of my own, it felt like sacrilege.”

Bec looks around at the array. She seems to be searching for one in particular. “What about the original Board?” she asks eventually.

“Why do you seek that?” Lord Loss’s eyes narrow.

“I don’t seek it,” Bec smiles. “I’d just like to see it again. I know you took it from the cave after Drust died.”

“You mean after you killed him,” Lord Loss murmurs.

Bec stiffens, then tilts her head. “Aye.”

Lord Loss clicks several fingers. A demon with five legs and a neck like a giraffe scurries away and returns with a crystal board, the first that was ever made on this world. According to Kernel, it was a tool of the Old Creatures. They used it to help mankind evolve.

Lord Loss holds the Board reverentially, then passes it to Bec. She treats it the same careful way he did, examining it closely. “It’s amazing,” she whispers. “I can feel the power, so different to ours.”

“The magic of the Old Creatures,” Lord Loss sniffs. “It’s nothing special.”

Bec hides a smirk behind the Board. I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s just another chess board as far as I’m concerned. I know it has magical properties, but I’ve seen a hundred more fascinating objects in my travels.

Bec hands the Board back to Lord Loss. The dream’s almost over. I’m anticipating the end. But before the conclusion, there will be one last conversation.

“I’d like to enter it,” Bec says.

“Why?” Lord Loss snaps suspiciously.

“I know of its splendours. Kernel went there once, many years ago. I want to experience them for myself.”

Lord Loss is frowning. “You cannot escape me in there,” he growls. “If you think you can tap into the magic of the Old Creatures and use it against me, you are gravely mistaken.”

“That’s not my intention,” Bec says calmly. “You said earlier that you didn’t want me to lie. So I’ll tell you truthfully, I do have a secret reason for wanting to enter the Board. But it has nothing to do with escape.”

Bec’s eyes flicker. It’s the furtive look of someone who suspects they’re being watched, who wants to go somewhere private to discuss dark deeds. I think, as I’ve thought every time I see her eyes move, Does she know I’m here?

This is no normal dream. I’m certain these events are real, that they happened, are happening or will happen in the future. I suspect my ability to follow Bec through the castle is the work of the Kah-Gash. If I’m correct, maybe it’s working through her too and she can sense me watching.

Maybe Lord Loss senses Bec’s nervousness too, because after a brief pause, he accepts her request. “Very well. I will grant your wish, as I grant the wishes of all who are honest with me.”

The pair go rigid and their eyes frost over. Their souls have entered the Board. If I knew for sure that this was happening in the present, I’d cross immediately and strike while the demon master’s soul was absent. I’d kill him where he stood, and that would be the end of lowly Lord Loss.

But time works differently in the demon universe. This might be something that took place in the past, or that hasn’t happened yet. I’d be a fool if I rushed in without knowing for certain that the demon master was distracted and defenceless.

I wait for the scene to fade and the dream to pass. It always does at this point. I’ll slip into unconsciousness and won’t stir until morning. A few more seconds and…

Nothing happens. For several minutes I watch the motionless pair, Lord Loss cradling the Board, Bec leaning close to him, both with their eyes half closed. I wonder if the scene has frozen, like when a DVD sticks, but then a demon slinks by and I realise time is passing.

For the first time ever, the dream is different. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad sign. I try looking away from the Board, but my gaze is fixed. I start to fidget, wondering if this is a trap, if my mind will remain stuck here while my body shrivels up and dies. Have I been lured in and ensnared? If so, I can’t see any way out. I’m helpless in this dream zone.

Time drags on. Hard to tell how long. I wish I had a watch. I become more certain that I’ve walked into a trap, that I’m going to perish slowly and stupidly. Then, as I’m cursing myself for being so gullible…

Bec blinks and Lord Loss clutches the Board to his chest. The pair breathe out and smile shakily at each other. “Interesting,” Lord Loss mutters.

“Isn’t it?” Bec grins.

“I will need time to ponder and reflect.”

“Of course.”

“If you’re wrong… if it doesn’t go the way you think…” His face darkens.

“It’s a risk no matter which way you play it.” Bec shrugs, then turns. “I can find my own way back.”

She walks out of the room and I automatically trail her, thinking to myself, What the hell? Lord Loss stays where he is, fondling the Board, staring after Bec with an unreadable expression.

→ I stay with Bec as she weaves through rooms and corridors of webs, eventually ending up back in the bedroom where she started. She looks exhausted. I think more time passed for them inside the Board than it did for me as an onlooker. But what did they do in there? What did they talk about? It sounded like Bec made some sort of an offer to Lord Loss. But what?

She undresses and wipes the make-up from her face. Steps into her nightgown, then returns to the seat by the table and stares into the mirror. She looks doubtful, like she’s gambled everything and doesn’t know which way the dice will roll. For a moment I believe she’s tried to persuade Lord Loss to throw in his lot with us. Perhaps she’s been playing him all along, waiting until the time was right to sign him up for our side. I have crazy thoughts of the demon master doing a Darth Vader and joining our side to stop the evil Emperor of Death.

But this isn’t Star Wars, and almost as soon as the childish hope forms, reality knocks a thousand holes in it.

“I reached my conclusion sooner than I anticipated.”

Bec turns. Lord Loss has entered the bedroom. He’s smiling. She stands and walks over to him, trembling. “You’ve decided?”

“Yes.” He leans down and kisses her. For a second I think he means to draw the life from her lips, but this is a kiss of passion, not destruction.

“I admire your daring and cunning,” he murmurs. “We will proceed as you suggested. If you can find the lodestones, I’ll help open the tunnels.”

Bec throws her arms around Lord Loss and hugs him. As she does, I’m torn from my dream. Snapping awake, I hurl myself from my makeshift bed in the hospital, smash a fist into the wall, then howl at the ceiling like a madman.

HOME SWEET HOME

→ I cancel my plans to travel to the city where the next crossing is due. Instead I send the werewolves, under the guidance of Prae Athim and her Lambs. They’ll have to handle this one without me.

I catch a separate plane, with Kernel, Kirilli, Moe and Curly. I leave Larry with the other werewolves to keep them in line. I’m twitching with nerves, unable to forget the dream for an instant, wondering about the pact Bec made with Lord Loss, recalling the way she embraced him. The memory chews me up inside. I wish I’d gone after her as soon as she was kidnapped and killed that damn priestess from the past.

On the plane, I tell Kernel and Kirilli about the dream. It’s essential they know about the threat, in case anything happens to me.

Kernel hits the roof. “Why didn’t you tell us before?” he roars. I claim innocence – until last night, there was no hint that Bec might betray us – but he doesn’t buy that. “You should have told us anyway. You know better than to hide something this important.”

There’s nothing I can say to defend myself, because he’s right.

Moe and Curly hate planes. They cower in their seats, as far from the windows as they can squirm, whining at the noise of the engines and every bump caused by turbulence. All of the werewolves hate flying. They only suffer it because they know there will be rich pickings at the other end.

At least we don’t have to bother with connecting flights. The governments and armies of the world work hand-in-hand with the Disciples now. A jet is put at my disposal as soon as I ask for one. It makes getting around a hell of a lot easier.

Kernel is still griping as we hit the runway, saying he warned me about Bec, that this wouldn’t be happening if I’d listened and that I should return him to the demon universe and set him free. He insists we’re wasting our time trying to thwart the plans of Bec and Lord Loss. Although many of the world’s lodestones – reservoirs of ancient, magical power – were destroyed or drained long ago, an unknown number still exist.

“The locations of most are a mystery to us,” Kernel says, “but Beranabus knew about a few stones that he either wasn’t able to destroy or wanted to keep intact. He never told us where they were, but Bec absorbs the memories of everyone she touches, and she spent a lot of time with Beranabus. She’ll lead Lord Loss to the lodestones and we can’t stop her. We’re done for.”

Again, I can’t argue. The more potent lodestones can be used to open a tunnel between the demon universe and ours. The Demonata can cross without limits through such tunnels and stay here as long as they remain open, which could be years or even longer — some can stay open until the end of time itself. If Bec and Lord Loss get hold of those stones, this war is finished.

But we have to try to stop them. I despise Kernel’s defeatist attitude. And we’re not entirely helpless — if Kernel’s eyes are restored, he can target Bec and we can maybe kill her before they get going. But I don’t say that to him because it would set him off on another rant.

A helicopter is waiting for us when we disembark. Again, a perk of the job. I’ve never ridden in a helicopter for fun. I’m always zipping off to one fight or another. I’d like to take a scenic flight one day, but the way things are stacking up against us, I doubt that will ever happen.

Once we’re all strapped in, we take off. Curly and Moe howl happily and stick their heads out of the windows. As much as they hate planes, they love helicopters. Werewolves — go figure!

It’s a short flight, and although Kernel carries on with his tirade, I tune him out, thinking about the past, my history, all that I’ve lost and left behind. I haven’t been back here since the night Bill-E died — the night I killed him. Scores of dark memories bob to the surface, mixed in with happier recollections.

We hit the outskirts of Carcery Vale and skim over the houses, shops and schools. They look unfamiliar from up high. It’s evening and the streets are quiet, with only a few people strolling or driving around. We might be facing the end of the world, but life carries on as normal for the most part.

The plan was to head straight to the cave, but on an impulse I lean forward, tap the pilot’s shoulder and point him in a different direction.

“What are you doing?” Kernel asks, feeling the helicopter bank around.

“I want to visit the mansion first.”

“What’s the point? If we’re going to do this, let’s crack on and do it. We don’t have time for trips down memory lane.”

I ignore him and watch intently as we home in on the massive house a few kilometres outside the town. This is where I lived with Dervish after my parents were slaughtered. It’s the last place I was able to call home. Probably the last place I’ll ever be able to call home.

We touch down in the large courtyard and the pilot kills the engines. Curly and Moe are first out, sniffing the ground, marking their territory, making sure it’s safe for their leader. I slide out next, leaving Kirilli to help Kernel down. The pilot stays with the helicopter.

I stare up at the gigantic house, recalling a variety of memories, a mix of good and bad. The glass in the windows has been shattered by gunfire, but otherwise the building looks much the way it did when I cast my final look back on that sad night.

The spare key isn’t under the pot to the left of the front doors and I prepare to break in. But when I try the doors, they’re not locked. Entering, I call “Hello?” but nobody answers. There are no noises apart from the creakings of the house.

As the others follow me in, I spot scores of bullet holes in the walls and ornate old staircase that is the spine of the house, and much of the furniture has been torn to pieces. On Dervish and Bec’s last night here, they were attacked by soldiers in the employ of Antoine Horwitzer, a rogue Lamb.

“It smells stale,” Kirilli says, limping along behind me.

“It’s been deserted for ages,” I tell him.

“Not that long,” Kernel mutters.

“Perhaps it’s mourning the death of its owner,” Kirilli says. “Houses have feelings too. They don’t live and feel like we do, but they absorb part of the spirit of those who inhabit them.”

“Weirdo,” Kernel grunts and I laugh with him. Kirilli shrugs and shuffles off to explore.

“Do you want to come with me?” I ask Kernel, feeling faint traces of the bond that once existed between us.

“No,” he sighs, moving to a window and standing by it as if he can see out. “I’ll stay here and admire the moonlight. You go cheer up the house. Grubbs?” he adds softly as I turn to pad up the stairs. “I know how much this place means to you. Take your time.”

“Thanks,” I smile.

I head for Dervish’s office first. This is the room he spent most of his time in, where he worked, plotted and relaxed. It’s been shot up badly, but it still reeks of my uncle. His books lie scattered across the floor. His computers have been blown to smithereens, but I can picture him hunched over the screens, frowning as he read about some old spell or other. And maybe it’s just my imagination, but I’m sure I can smell the musty stench of his feet — he loved to kick his shoes off in here, but he wasn’t great at changing his socks regularly.

I want to say something to mark the occasion and pay homage to the memory of my dead uncle. But everything I think of seems trite and clichéd. I was never the best with words. They’ve failed me often in the past, and they fail me again now. In the end I just pat the back of the chair where Dervish used to sit.

I visit the hall of portraits and run my gaze over the faces of the dead, all our family members who have perished over the centuries, most as a result of lycanthropy. I’d like to add photos of Dervish and Bill-E to the rows of frames, but I don’t have any on me. I could fetch a couple from the study, but I don’t want to go back there.

I settle for writing their names in the dusty glass of a couple of the larger pictures, along with their dates of birth and death. Pausing, I smile and add a line under Dervish’s name. “Died fighting the good fight.” A longer pause, then, with no smile, I write under Bill-E’s name, “Killed by his half-brother.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.