foyer, causing the light bulb to explode.
“Don’t sugarcoat it,” Abbadon said, standing in the doorway. “It sounds so much better when you just say it out loud.”
Jack could scream all he wanted inside his own head, that Sanford had fucked him and that Abbadon was going to take what he wanted out of his hide. Reacting, though, wasn’t going to do any good. He could always go through the window, if he didn’t mind shedding a little blood, but then where the fuck would he go? Miles from anywhere, in terrain he didn’t know, he might as well smear himself in marinade and leave himself for the coyotes.
Sanford’s jaw ticked when Abbadon approached. “Took you long enough,” he said.
Abbadon shrugged. “Jackie-boy isn’t going anywhere. He loves his little sperm receptacle too much to misbehave.” He reached out and patted Jack on the cheek. “That someone like you could actually love something, even a useless whore like that, is kind of sweet. Almost gives you faith in humanity or some shit.”
“Can we please get this moving?” Sanford said. “Tell him what needs to happen and get a move on.”
Abbadon sighed and gave Jack a conspiratorial look. “Humans. Always got their dicks out, waving them around. Fucking pain in the ass, am I right?”
“I’d like to know,” Jack said. “Since I’m apparently to be terrorized into helping you with whatever it is.”
“Like Bill Shakespeare over there was saying,” Abbadon said. “Old Basil Locke found a way to pass between the veils. Not just from Black to daylight—any stupid fuck can do that if they’ve got a little talent or are tripping hard enough. He found a way to cross back and forth.” Abbadon grinned at Jack, showing his full row of teeth. “Basil Locke found a portal to Hell.”
CHAPTER 23
Jack felt his lip curl. “You’re pulling my bloody leg.”
Abbadon shrugged. “Believe it or not. I do.” He looked to Sanford. “He does.” He approached Jack and put a finger under his chin. “And you do too. Deep down in that rotten little human soul of yours.”
Jack slapped the hand away. “I do believe I can do without you feeling me up.”
“Touchy.” Abbadon held up his hands. “I’ll make this simple. Locke
“And why, pray tell,” Jack said, “would I ever help you with something like that? I have to live in this world, mate. I don’t fancy a giant gaping maw into Mordor in the middle of southern California.”
“Because you don’t give a fuck about this world.” Abbadon drew close. “But you do give a fuck about sweet little Petunia, and as I believe Harlan here has already stated, we’re all prepared to take turns doing unspeakable things to her if you don’t follow what I’m about to tell you to the letter.”
Abbadon knew he had him—this was just twisting the knife in. Making him say the words, to know they’d bent Jack over properly. “Pete doesn’t have anything to do with this,” he said. “Of course I’ll do what you want. You know I will.”
“You’re wrong about that, you know,” Sanford said. He snapped his fingers at Gator. “Go get the bags.” He faced Jack again. “Petunia isn’t some poor little waif caught up in all this. She made that deal with Belial. She’s the one who caught the eye of the Hecate. Hell, Jack, if it wasn’t for her, you’d be dead in some tip with a needle still dangling out of your arm, and the world would be a better place.”
Jack shrugged. “Probably. But then who would be around to listen to you jabber on?”
Sanford grinned. “In this town, you can pay people to listen to you. What I need from you is a little more complicated. Abbadon and I have been chatting—have been ever since I had that crime scene tranced when I heard you were in town sniffing around the old murders, so you’re right—I did lie to you, shine you on when you came to me with your grand plan to spy on the fuck mages, and for that I apologize. But it was a lie of necessity, for the greater good. Not that you’d understand.”
Gator returned with a leather case, dropped it, and retreated to the corner of the room. Sanford opened it and gestured Jack over. “Locke’s ritual is pretty complete. But to open a gate, you need a key. A blood key, and it can’t just be any old blood.” He grinned. “Demon blood. And there’s one particular demon that’s very attached to you. When you fell into my lap, and brought Don with you, it was perfect. I couldn’t have pitched a better serve.”
Belial. Of course. That collector bullshit would be a fine cover to trap and use your very own demon. If you were stupid enough to open a portal to Hell, you were certainly the type who’d think a demon would sit still for a flaying.
“Let me ask you a question,” Jack said. “What exactly do you think is going to happen when you drain Belial and open this Hell-hole, and about ten thousand of his closest friends come pouring out to make sushi from your liver?”
“They’re not going to do shit,” Abbadon said. “I belong in Hell, and Hell is where I stay. The Princes won’t stand against me when they see what I’ve become.”
“Become a great twat, you mean,” Jack muttered.
Sanford thrust chalk into his hands. “Belial comes when you call. Get him here and we’ll consider your part in this done.”
“We’ll even overlook that little stunt you pulled at the ranch,” Abbadon said. “And you can go on to have babies, get old, and die, secure in the knowledge that you helped put right one of the greatest travesties of this age or any other.”
Jack knelt and started to chalk a circle into the floor. Sanford would just hand him over to Abbadon if he didn’t, and Abbadon would just find new and inventive ways to torture him. “Let me ask you a question,” he said to Abbadon. “You ever get tired of the sound of your own voice?”
“It was all I had for so long,” Abbadon said. “Can’t be too picky.”
The marks to summon a demon weren’t particularly different from the marks to call anything—a ghost, a hex, whatever you wanted. Jack let his hands work the familiar symbols while he devoted his brainpower to thinking over the clusterfuck he’d walked into. Pete wasn’t who Sanford and Abbadon were really interested in—she was leverage, and they’d leave her be until Jack kicked up a fuss about doing what they needed done. Basil Locke’s door into Hell sounded like a fairy tale on the surface, but all good fairy tales had a grain of truth.
If Abbadon did open a doorway into Hell from the daylight world, what would spill out? He was insane to think he could stand against the Princes and all of their legions, but there were more than a few citizens of Hell who’d welcome the chance to turn the world into their own private resort.
Sanford checked his watch. “You almost done there? I heard you were supposed to be good at this.”
“D’you want it fast, or d’you want it right?” Jack sat back on his heels, chalk dust gritty on his fingertips.
Abbadon sniffed. “Quit stalling, Winter. What do you care if Belial bites it, anyway? He did to you exactly what he did to me—locked you away in Hell and put his claws into you so deep you can never escape.”
The freak had a point, even if Jack was loath to admit it. Belial was a snake. A different breed of snake than Abbadon, but they shared common blood. Wasn’t it Belial’s fault he was in this situation?
Pete had done what she’d done out of desperation. Belial had taken advantage of her. Snakes were good at finding the vulnerable underbelly.
Of course, if Pete hadn’t been trying to keep him out of Hell in the first place, she’d never have had to make a deal with a demon.
He stood and tossed the chalk away. “There. Can I go now, headmaster?”
“Stay,” Abbadon purred. “Stay and see what’s going to happen. Trust me, Jack—you’re going to want to be able to say ‘I was there.’” He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, nails digging through the leather. “Do it.”
Jack felt a tremor run through him, the same heart-stopping cold that had gripped him when he’d killed Parker, but he shook it off. “Belial,” he said. “Demon of Hell. I call upon you to appear.”
