Devil's Punch

charcoal and chiaroscuro. A thin trickle of a stream flowed over rocky ground, and on the bank above grew a tree barren of greenery. In its spindly boughs perched a thing that wasn’t a bird, but might have been their evil cousin. It had skin instead of feathers, like a hairless cat, leathern wings, a small red beak, which was full of tiny, sharp teeth, and beady, nosy eyes that tracked my movements as I pushed to my feet. I stepped out of the river, wringing out the bottom of my pants. From a magickal perspective, it made sense water would be used in transitions like this one, given it was symbolically linked to journeys.

Overhead, the evil avian chirred with unsettling interest.

“Shit,” I said.

Before I could worry about bird-thing’s curiosity, Chance tumbled out of a rent in reality, similar to the one I’d seen in Peru when the sorcerer gated the demon knight in to slay me. It happened a third time, permitting Greydusk to join us. Then the magick diffused on a dank breeze, carrying remnants of light as the only brightness in this otherwise wretched vista.

“You all right?” I asked, offering Chance my hand.

“That was…” He shook his head.

“Right?” There was just no adjective to describe that trip.

“What was the deal with the ruby?” I added to Greydusk.

“It was a soulstone,” the demon replied.

Chance raised a brow. “Did it have an actual soul in it?”

Please say no. Please.

Greydusk inclined its head. “I did say that passage between realms required power and sacrifice.”

“So you destroyed somebody’s soul to get us here?” Horror overwhelmed me. Whatever religion you followed, destruction of a soul meant the end of that path. No more rebirths, no afterlife. Just…gone.

Fuck.

The demon offered a cold smile. “No, Binder. You chose this path. I am merely the guide.”

Chance objected, “But you’d have burned the soulstone to get home, wouldn’t you? If she’d declined your offer.”

“Would I?”

Maybe Greydusk would’ve chosen to go sightseeing in the human world for a few hundred years. Damn it. Then I recalled the terms of his employment: If he failed to guide me to Xibalba, as agreed, if I’d refused to come with him, he died. The person captured in that stone wouldn’t have been destroyed. This was another sin that I hadn’t anticipated, but unintentional harm didn’t make it better or more forgivable. I closed my eyes, sick.

“You didn’t realize,” Chance whispered.

Thing was—and it made me worse than he knew—I’d have gone ahead, even if Greydusk had warned me. I’d choose to sacrifice some unknown soul to save Shannon. That was the kind of person I’d become, or maybe always had been. Certainly, I wasn’t a gentle white witch like my mother had been. I really had to talk to Chance. Damn. First chance I got, I’d tell him everything, before we went back.

“Take me to Shannon,” I said quietly.

“Those are not my orders.”

I froze. Magick flared from my fingertips in a wild rush. It felt different here in Sheol, darker, almost viscous, as if I could drip it through my fingers like molasses. The energy clung to me like a dark cloak, sizzling beneath my skin in silent threat. Sure, it hurt me too, but if this thing tried to double-cross us, I would fry it. Somehow. Before it could touch either one of us. I gauged the distance and calculated how many seconds I’d have before it reached me.

“That will not be necessary, Binder.” The neutral tone was back, a sure sign I had offended it. “I will convey you to my employer, as I was instructed. Where you go from there is between you and her.”

Her?

“Do we have allies?” Chance asked.

“In a manner of speaking. The Luren want to see you. Speak with you. They are…amenable to the idea of a shift in the power structure.”

I pondered; I wasn’t without resources, so I etched a sigil in the air with my athame, whispered a word, then asked, “Did the Luren have anything to do with taking Shannon?”

“No,” the demon answered. “But they did not strive to prevent it either.”

Truth echoed in my head. The spell wouldn’t last long, so I needed to get as much info as I could.

“Who are they?”

“They mean you no harm,” Greydusk said impatiently. “Which is more than I might say for any other caste. You imperil yourselves by arguing here. It’s imperative that you permit me to complete my contract.”

Half truth. The whispered judgment from the spell didn’t shock me. Unfortunately, it couldn’t tell me which part was less than honest. Maybe the last bit, because the consequences would be terrible for Greydusk if we balked. He’ll die, a skeptical voice reminded me. That meant it was doubtful we could trust him. He’d say anything to get us to cooperate. Yet it wasn’t like I had a demonic version of Chuch hanging around Sheol, waiting for my call. There were no better offers on the table.

“What do you think?” I asked Chance.

He lifted one shoulder in a graceful shrug. “I don’t know where the hell we are. We could die here before we find Shannon without some help, so it seems better to let him take us to the demons who don’t immediately intend to kill us.”

That summed up the situation nicely. Greydusk had us over a barrel. So I muttered, “Let’s get on with it.”

The Imaron set a small, intricately graven box on the ground. Then it whispered a word in demontongue, and the item responded with an agitated rattle. It unfolded rapidly, assembling into something larger, and when the pieces stopped unfolding and turning, the tiny article had turned into what looked like a mechanical coach. I shared a glance with Chance, brow raised. In reply, he shook his head: Nope, never saw anything like that before.

Next, Greydusk uncapped a vial, and blacklight poured out. I recognized it from Lake Catemaco, even if I hadn’t been able to identify the smell. Panicked, I drew, so that magick sparkled on my fingertips, burning like ten small suns. My spells slipped, so that I couldn’t remember which sigils matched what effects; I was that scared, and without an outlet for the power I’d drawn, I would cook myself alive.

“Calm down,” Greydusk said impatiently. “The Klothod won’t hurt you.”

Except when they possess a bunch of angry monkeys, who then try to eat your face. They killed the boatman in Catemaco without breaking a sweat. “Since when?”

“Since I command them.”

Chance took my hand, even with the energy crackling from it, and it burst away from him, lancing the air in a wild bolt that shook the tree. Overhead, the bird-thing uttered a raucous cry in protest. As I watched, Greydusk whispered orders to the Klothod, and they infused the carriage he’d called. The thing shuddered to life, fed on demonic energies. I swallowed my misgivings, climbed up, and then we were off.

The smell lingered around us, tingeing the air. I couldn’t forget that some of these things had tried to murder me; they had killed Ernesto, an honest boatman from Veracruz. In my heart, I knew Kel wouldn’t approve of this. He’d said I held both heaven and hell in me, and that I had yet to choose my course. But this? No. There was no paradise waiting for me after this. So I’d better make my mortal life count because it was straight down in a handbasket thereafter.

A lonely road stretched before us; there was no other traffic. No signs of indigenous life either. No native flora and fauna. “What is this place?”

“The Ashen Plain. On its other side, we will cross the River of Lethe, and come through the Chasm of Despair.”

“Seriously?”

It ignored my sarcasm. “Once past, we will see the city walls.”