The words weren’t really important, but Jack figured it couldn’t hurt to give Abbadon a show. For a long moment, nothing happened at all. The Black remained a void. Jack didn’t know if his talent would even work in this place, this dead spot that sucked all the magic around it in like a hungry, dying star, but then he felt the slithering of a presence shifting into his sensory plane, the velvety sensation of a demon’s talent against his sight.
Belial didn’t shimmer or appear in a puff of smoke—you blinked and there he was. He caught sight of Abbadon and lowered his head. “Fuck me.”
Abbadon clapped his hands together. “Haven’t even started yet. Trust me, when I fuck you—you know it.”
Belial looked over at Jack. “Did I tell you, crow-mage, or did I tell you?”
“You did,” Jack agreed. “Fact is, I don’t owe you shit. You were never going to let Pete out of that bargain she made, and you’re never going to leave us be.”
Belial shook his head. “Ye of little faith, Jack. Have I ever welshed on a deal? Have I ever tried to bend you over?” His voice rose. “No. Because I’m not like that
Abbadon stepped to Belial, mindful of the chalk, and cracked him across the face. “That’s enough out of you, shit for brains.”
Belial ran his tongue over his bloody teeth, and spat. “So what’s the plan, dogfuck? Going to poke me with sticks and feel better about your sorry-arse lot in life?”
“Better,” Abbadon said, and snapped his fingers at Sanford and Jack. “Get it down.”
Sanford went to a pulley system anchored in the wall and unhooked the rope, snarling at Jack. “Help me.”
Jack gripped the rope. He was close enough. He could throw a hex on Sanford and be out of here before anyone had time to get across the room to him. Except Abbadon didn’t need to touch him to fuck him up. And running now would only help him, not Pete and not the kid. Nor Kim, and Kim’s spawn. Abbadon still needed a new body.
He watched the iron chandelier lower to just above waist height, one of those flat black affairs shaped like a wagon wheel. Small pyramid points rose from the iron rods, and chains dangled from between the spaces for candles.
Abbadon grabbed Belial by the back of the neck. “See that, demon? Get a good look, because that’s your final resting place.”
“It’s cute how you think this is actually going to all work out for you,” Belial said. “Like you won’t get torn apart by the dogs of Hell the moment I get out of here.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Abbadon pushed Belial down, face first onto the metal rack. Jack couldn’t help wincing when he heard the iron spikes bite into flesh. Belial let out a soft grunt, but that was all. Tough bastard, Jack thought. Were it him, he’d be screaming.
“Lift,” Abbadon said. “Hang ’im high.”
“Great flick,” Sanford said. “Gary Cooper is the man.”
“Harlan, shut the fuck up,” Abbadon said. “Nobody cares, nobody’s interested. Just shut up and hoist this fucker.”
Sanford muttered, but he tugged at the rope, and Jack helped him raise Belial back to ceiling height. The demon didn’t make a sound, just stared impassively as his blood droplets painted a mosaic on the floor.
Why didn’t he fight? Jack shot Belial a sidelong glance. Why didn’t he break out, throw down with Abbadon, whip it out and see who was bigger once and for all?
This place was poison for magic. Maybe it was poison for demons as well. That had been Basil Locke’s big secret—turning a patch of ground into a dead zone for creatures that could rip his face off, and use it to build his doorway.
He had to hand it to Locke, smart bastard. Not that it was going to help him, or Belial, one fucking ounce.
Abbadon stepped back and looked to Sanford. “Now we wait for the piggy to bleed out, and then we knock on Hell’s back door and see who’s home.”
“I know that,” Sanford said, spine straightening. “I’m the one who found Locke’s work, after all.”
“’Course you did,” Abbadon said. He pointed at Gator. “Your boy there is looking a little green. Need to send him to the nurse’s office?”
“Ignore him,” Sanford said. “He’s a pussy without his big boyfriend around.”
Abbadon knelt and smeared Belial’s blood into a rough circle. There was a lot of it, more than a human could lose and still be walking and talking. “It’s all physics,” Abbadon told Belial. “You think you’re floating in a soap bubble, impenetrable by anyone except your filthy blood. But all you have to do is twist the magic, use it to tether yourself to Hell. And then you can pass straight through, you and anyone else. Locke was a genius, when you think about it.”
“He was a crazy bastard,” Belial said. His voice was soft, softer than Jack had ever heard it, and there was a definite knife edge of pain. “If you could open a doorway, don’t you think he’d have done? What, he just left this precious gift for you shiftless gits?” He gritted his teeth as more blood poured out. “You can bleed me dry, Abbadon, but in the end you’re going back to Hell, and back to the same spot we put you, because that’s the way of things. The natural order has moved on. You’re a relic, and you’re…”
He gave a scream as Abbadon dipped his finger into the demon’s blood. It fizzed and boiled, and Belial’s skin rippled with boils before quieting. Pink foam leaked from his nose and the corners of his mouth.
“Tell me what I am again,” Abbadon said. “I dare you, fuckstick.”
“Enough,” Sanford said. “Now that we have the circle there come the words, and then the key to open the door.” He gestured. “Gator, get over here.”
Jack perked up. Finally, an opening. Sanford was smart, but his hard men weren’t, and nothing was more dangerous than a dumb, pissed-off thug. “Wouldn’t do it,” he said.
Abbadon and Sanford both glared at him. “Shut up,” Sanford said. “You’ve done your bit. You be a good boy and maybe I’ll drive you home with your virtue intact.”
“Really, mate,” Jack continued, locking eyes with Gator. “You didn’t seriously think that you were going to skip out of here with all your fingers and toes. Not once the men started appearing from thin air and the blood magic began.”
Gator looked at him, back to Sanford. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Think about it. Key? That’s human sacrifice, mate. That’s
“Be quiet,” Abbadon hissed. “It doesn’t matter. What’s he going to do, shoot me?”
Gator’s mouth dropped open, revealing a plethora of cavities behind his gold grin. “You motherfuckers!” he spat. “After everything I done for you. All the shit that I cleaned up for you, Harlan…”
“Oh, good lord,” Sanford said. “You’re replaceable, Gator. Parker was the one I was upset over losing. You’re an overweight kiddie-fiddler with delusions of Satanism from Assrape, Louisiana. You think I can’t find another one of you—a dozen—any time I wanted?”
Gator pulled his gun, which was all the distraction Jack had hoped for. Gator was panicked, and his shots went wide, picking holes out of the wall of windows, but he turned tail and ran, still shooting, shots spanging wildly off the plaster and tile, until his gun clicked empty and he simply fled.
Sanford stared after him. “Well, shit,” he said.
“No matter,” Abbadon said. He looked at Jack. “What exactly did you hope to accomplish with that, Jackie?” He raised a hand. “Never mind. I didn’t have my heart set on that fat fuck.” Abbadon looked at Sanford, and Jack thought that really, a man as smart as Harlan Sanford should have seen this coming.
Still, he screamed and tried to run, just like they all did. Abbadon grabbed him, shoved him over the line of the blood circle, and thrust a fist into his back. Sanford choked, a little blood sprayed from between his lips, and his eyes bulged. Abbadon let him drop, the gaping wound in his back wide as a cannon shot.
“Now,” Abbadon said. “Now the veil is lifted. Now I return to my rightful place, and leave this stinking world behind. By the blood of my enemies, I open the doorway between the two worlds, the way back to the land of my birth and my blood.”
Abbadon held up his own wrist, and a void appeared, dribbling his own blood into the circle. “The doorway
