shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows as if in preparation for strenuous work. The room smelled 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. Eventually, 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 finally 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 full of music and laughter. On Sundays he would coach the local Little League team. Xavier would think of me from time to time, usually 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 will 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 calling the shots and all,” I said. “But even you can’t change this.”
“We could run,” Jake muttered, talking rapidly as his mind desperately searched for solutions. “But all 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 really listening. I didn’t want to hear his far-fetched ideas and I wished he would just be quiet for a while.
“We still have time before dawn,” Jake continued, talking to himself now. “I’ll 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 hall 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 all night. I was still 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 full 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 doll. I was still barefoot and in my nightgown. I stumbled when they tied my wrists roughly together with rope and used it to pull 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 appalling to see his brothers and sisters turn on him so quickly. In the chaos, he disappeared from view and all I could hear was a chorus of vicious snarling and spitting. The fear was beginning to well up in me now and I couldn’t stop myself from shaking.
“Beth!” I could hear Jake calling to me, his voice filled with desperation. “Beth, I won’t let them go through with it!” But I didn’t believe him and I could tell he didn’t either. All conviction was gone from his voice.
The guards pushed me roughly down the passage and headed for the lobby. The others followed, casually 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 tell 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 yelled 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 called. “I’ll be okay!” I glared furiously at Nash, who was striding casually alongside me. “Fix him,” I said in a thin voice. “Your vendetta against me has nothing to do with him.”
“You’re really 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, telling 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 belly into my chest now and was snaking its icy fingers up my throat, cutting off my air supply. I swallowed 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 refilled their goblets and offered platters of food. On a raised platform in the center of the arena rose a tall 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 pulled 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 smell wafted up and burned my nostrils. My heart was beating so fast, I thought it would explode through my rib cage. The metallic
