“The Gates leading to each Ring of Hell,” he clarifies.
I nod slowly. “Cool, cool.”
Totally not cool. I want it stated on the record that I am one hundred percent not cool with going down into Hell to see which Ring I can go through like it’s a security check at the airport. I am not getting cavity searched in Hell.
Jerif and the others move closer and start talking in their weird language again, their movements animated. I’m not even sure what their demon language would be called. Demonian? Demonish? Language of: I Need to Get the Fuck out of Here? Yeah, probably that one.
I watch them, still holding my scythe, as they argue in English and in Demon-ish over the Hellgate test I should or should not take. I hate tests. I always failed them in school because it was just too much pressure. Okay, and sure, I never studied either, but the point is, tests are evil. And a test to see which Hellgates I can pass through? That sounds worse than the SATs.
The four of them seem to come to some kind of agreement though, because they exchange a few more words and then turn back to look at me. Jerif looks pissed, Echo looks thoughtful, and Crux looks worried. I can’t read Iceman’s expression at all.
“It’s decided,” Iceman-Rafferty states. “We’re going to take you through the Gates to test you. Once we know what Ring you’re from, we’ll make it official and get you inducted as our fifth.”
I wait for him to keep talking, but he just ends his sentence right there. “Your fifth what?”
“Gate Guardian,” he answers. “Once that happens, you’ll be inducted and tied to the four of us for all eternity...or until the authorities assign a different fifth, but that could take eons.”
“Or until she dies,” Jerif mutters under his breath, making my gray eyes widen.
Iceman shoots him a look. “That won’t happen. She’s powerful enough to sustain it.”
“So if I don’t die, what does a fifth do?” I ask warily.
“Basically, it will be your obligation to keep the Hellgate stable and monitor the demons who pass in and out. It’s our duty as Hellgate Guardians to maintain the balance.”
Yeah, I’m going to have to go with a cool no on that. But I nod, like that’s all perfectly reasonable. “Mm-hmm,” I say.
“We’ve never had a woman Guardian before,” Echo points out, his eerie black eyes seeming to swirl with shadows. “Hopefully, the Gate doesn’t chew her up and spit her out.”
“Indeed. She’ll have to learn to fight,” Iceman replies.
Yep. Harder hard pass. Hard passes all around. If there was a hard pass hall monitor around, I’d want a ticket.
“Right. Cool. Okay,” I nod again.
The five of us just stare at each other for a second, and then without warning, I just turn around and run like my ass is on fire because fuck this.
I sprint my squeaky leather-clad ass out of the room as fast as my boots will carry me. I hear my name being shouted, but I just take the stairs three at a time and get the fuck out of dodge. I don’t stop moving through the maze of stairways and hallways, and by some miracle, I manage to make it to a side door that leads outside.
I run across the gravel, head around to the front, racing as fast as my feet will carry me all the way to my moped. I hop on, realizing that I still have the fucking scythe in my hand, but there’s no chance in hell I’m going to go hand it back to them. I could just drop it, but that just feels wrong. So instead, I set it in my lap and claim finders keepers. I shove my helmet on, gun the engine, and peel out of the driveway faster than a bat out of a Hellgate.
“Nope, nope, nope, nope,” I say to myself as the wind rushes past me as I race down the street.
I spend the whole drive home checking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed, while still somehow balancing the scythe-walking stick in my lap. When I nearly jab it into a passing car, I debate just throwing it on the side of the road. I mean, yeah, I don’t want to be a Hellgate Guardian, but that doesn’t mean I want some hitchhiking millennial losing a toe because this temperamental stick scythed out at the wrong moment. So here I am, driving like a lunatic on a moped with an overgrown stick in my lap. Awesome.
I make it home in record time, tail free, thank fuck. I shakily abandon my moped under the carport and make my way inside my house. My door gives a long creaky hello, and I’m finally able to let out a small relieved sigh when the lock snicks into place.
I shove the walking stick from Hell—literally—into the rack that houses the umbrella and baseball bat by my door. I run through the house, checking every nook and cranny, and give all the shadows in my house the side-eye, but I’m alone as far as I can tell. I turn on all the lights though, just in case Echo tries to drop in. I don’t know how his shadow powers work, but I’m not taking any chances.
I shakily settle on the couch, and my mind reels. Tonight has been the most fucked up night I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something, because I once accidentally ate hallucinogenic mushrooms when a fuckboy sprinkled them on my pizza. And then there’s also that night where the police knocked on my door, carrying the news of my parents’ death. An ache ripples out from my heart, and I jump kick my thoughts in the gut and try to focus on shallower, less painful things.
Still, as fucked up as this night has been, I came out of it alive and in one piece, so I guess
