18
It feels like we all get sucked down into demonic quicksand, pulled right to the center of earth. Then, somehow, we flip right-side up again and go barreling skyward in pure darkness. It’s the worst fucking rollercoaster ride ever, and my stomach lurches angrily.
Just when I’m sure there will be ralphing in my near future, the pull on me stops and there’s once again solid ground beneath our feet.
I blink in shock, feeling like the wind was sucked out of my lungs, and I wheeze as I bend at the waist and try to get my bearings.
“Breathe, Maverick,” Iceman tells me as he places a comforting hand over my back. As though my body responds to his suggestion alone, my lungs immediately cooperate and inflate.
I gasp and steady myself for a moment and then straighten up, looking around as everything comes into focus. We’re surrounded by flat land, covered in bushy green trees as far as the eye can see. We’ve landed on top of a lone hill—the only higher elevation around—and from our vantage point, we have an unobstructed view all the way out to the horizon.
I notice gray baleful-looking clouds slowly moving in the distance as if they have nothing better to do than ruin a beautiful day. Anxiety starts to percolate in my stomach. Hopefully, they’re moving away and not toward us. I look away from them, not wanting to track potential impending doom.
“Uhh, where are we?” I ask, once again focusing on the funny looking trees in front of me.
Crux steps up next to me, running a hand through his wind-whipped blond hair as he taps his tongue piercings over his bottom lip, lost in thought. “I think we’re in Minnesota.”
Everyone looks over at him. “Really?” I ask in disbelief. “That’s what you’ve come up with?”
“Yeah,” he says with conviction. “Definitely Minnesota.”
I start to laugh, and he turns faux offended eyes on me. “Have you ever been to Minnesota?” he challenges.
I pause. “I have not,” I confess, and Crux tilts his head, the look on his face cocky. “So then, how would you know?”
“We are not in fucking Minnesota,” Jerif tells him.
“I know it’s hard for you not to be a prick,” Crux tells Jerif teasingly, “but I’ve been here before!” he insists. “This is Minnesota! Without a doubt.”
“When were you in Minnesota?” Echo asks dubiously. “And what the fuck for?”
“Uh…” Crux’s green eyes suddenly flicker over to me, and a look of guilt crosses over his face.
“Really?” I laugh. “A demon booty call happened in Minnesota?” I can’t keep the hilarity out of my tone. I don’t know why it’s so funny to me, but it is.
“Crux?” Iceman calls from behind us.
“Hold on, Raf, I’m winning an argument,” my surfer demon says dismissively. “Anyway, as I was saying,” he goes on, drawing a hand out toward the landscape. “This is definitely the place.”
Echo rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to continue to argue, but Jerif intercedes by grabbing Crux’s arm and spinning him to face the opposite direction, just like Iceman was trying to get him to do. “There,” Jerif says with a huff. “Still look like fucking Minnesota to you?”
Now that we’ve done a one-eighty, I start laughing. Hard. Because this is definitely not Minnefuckinsota.
A gleaming, almost glass-like castle is smack dab in the middle of the forest. It’s the kind of thing Disney would dream up. Surrounding it are long, white, shiny buildings. It’s like the castle itself is the sun and the long white buildings are the lines of rays extending out from the sun’s center.
I spot what I think is an obstacle course of some sort in the distance, and the size of it is massive and daunting. Several packed dirt rings are off to the left where trees have obviously been cleared away. I can see people moving around, but when I squint, I realize that there are white wings attached to their backs.
“Does Minnesota have castles like this?” Echo teases. Crux just narrows his eyes and tries to reach forward and punch him on the shoulder. Before his fist can make contact, Echo’s shadows branch out and shove Crux’s hand away.
“Fucking cheater,” Crux grumbles. Echo snickers.
“I know where we are,” Taz admits as his gray-gold eyes scan the landscape. “But I have no clue why,” he adds, his blond brows hiked up in either surprise or awe. “This is Purgatory. And those,” he says, pointing toward the white-winged beings. “are fucking angels.”
Well, shit.
“The scythe took us to a castle full of angels?” I ask with shock. I look down at the Hell weapon with a glare. Is this thing trying to get me killed?
“Not just angels. This is the Legion’s headquarters,” he says, though I have no fucking clue what that means.
“Alright, and just for curiosity’s sake, how do angels feel about demons?” I ask, rocking back on my heels. “Is this a run for our lives kind of scenario, or are you at secret handshake, followed by pats on the back level of friendship with these guys?”
“Well…” Tazreel starts, his tone not exactly bolstering confidence.
He doesn’t get the chance to say another word though, because in less time than it takes to say holy shit, that’s an angel, we suddenly find ourselves surrounded by a fuck ton of them. And as if that weren’t scary enough, they have very shiny swords pointed at our necks.
We all freeze.
“What business do Hell Spawn have in these parts?” a stunning angel with ebony skin, dark eyes, and cropped short hair demands. Her eyes fix on Iceman’s horns like they’re personally offending her, and then she moves her flickering gaze over to Jerif and Echo.
Tazreel looks the least worried by our current situation, and I wonder for a moment if he knows
