ARC: Crushed (25 page)

Not so Armand.

“Don't worry Meda, I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn't in my best interests. You can trust me for that, at least,” he says, and I see in his eyes he’s referring to our earlier conversation, where I accused him of setting me up to die. Then a wry smile. “And I'm not going to die for you. I'm not the kind. It's those two clowns you need to worry about.”

“Why?” I whisper the word.

“I have no choice.” His eyes hold mine and I know what he’s thinking.

Do you know why good girls fall for bad boys?

Sometimes people are together because they can’t help it. They don’t have a choice.

“There’s always a choice,” I say.

His lips bend up but, again, it’s not really a smile. “You don’t have one. Not this time. Letting me come with you is the only chance you have to make it out alive.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “That again.” I stick my elbow into his ribs. “Nag.”

“Lunatic,” he says, and I hear a real smile in his voice.

“Look who’s talking.”

“Touché.”

It takes waaaaay longer than twenty minutes before Jo and Chi come get us, but I don’t mind.

Chapter 31

We spend the next three days grilling Armand and being grilled in turn. Chi and Jo memorize every possible route to the Beacon Map, and every possible way out – at least as far as Armand can describe it. In my role as a distraction, the number of routes I could take are limitless, more dictated by where the demons chase me rather than anything, so Armand focuses on the major tunnels and general layout, using the few places I’ve been before as reference points. He’ll do his best to keep us along them as much as possible in case he… in case we became separated so I have a chance to escape.

Places to avoid – the dungeons. Just the thought of going back there makes me shudder, but it’s also filled with anti-Crusader magic. Red doors are also a no-no.

“What’s on the other side?” challenges Jo. “Something the Crusaders aren’t meant to see?”

“The Gates of Hell.”

That shuts her up.

“Literally. You won’t be able to get through. At least not without a demon escort. They take humans Below to sell their souls. So unless you have plans…?” He raises his eyebrows at her.

Jo flips him off.

“The Gates are another layer of caves and tunnels, bigger even than the one we’ll be in. It connects all the headquarters. The whole world, really, to Hell. So keep in mind that red doors equal more demons. They can travel through them. You can’t.”

I wince.

“You won’t be able to use cell phones once we’re below, obviously. If you know Crusader magic to communicate, you can though.” He looks at us expectantly, but we shake our heads. His expression sours. “Zi’s can speak directly into the heads of demons and some halflings.” He looks at me in question and I shrug. How would I know? “Including me. So until they realize I’m with you I should be able to hear them communicating once things start going down.”

I thought getting in was going to be the hard part. Not so.

“The Acheron was built to let demons out; they never had to worry about Crusaders getting in thanks to the interdict on direct attacks. Of course, that’s changed, but even so, I doubt they blocked everything off.” He smiles grimly. “Getting in is easy.”
It’s getting out that’s the problem,
but he leaves that unsaid.

And here we are. Three days later, walking through a brick tunnel underneath a townhouse in Washington DC. Teleportation, I learned, works the same for demons and Crusaders, and they can use each other’s portals. That’s why the Crusaders never put them directly in their communities, even before the interdict was broken. The demons can’t eliminate the teleportation spots even if they wanted to, however, as there are no physical entrances into the Acheron.

Chi and Jo fall back a bit and I hear the rumble of his voice and soft whisper of hers. I pick up the pace until I’m next to Armand, giving them some privacy. I wave at the brick tunnel around us. “Where did this come from?”

Armand flicks a look around the tunnel. “The demons possessed a guy oh, about a hundred years ago, and had him dig a ton of these.” It’s wide enough for us to walk side by side and about six feet tall, with arched ceilings. “There are tunnels like this all over the city. A couple were discovered, but the rest are still open.”

“Discovered by who? The Templars?”

“Well, them too. But, no, I meant
them
.” He jabs a finger upward. “The world. A truck fell through one once, way-back when.” Armand laughs. “They interviewed the Body,” Body and Rider, I know now, is how they describe the possessed and the demon doing the possessing, “about why he did it.”

“What did he say?”

“That he ‘liked the exercise’.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. But what else could he say? That he was possessed? That’d hardly make him seem saner. Besides, I think he’d already used that one when he was charged with bigamy.” He makes a thoughtful noise. “Or maybe that came later.”

“A tunnel-building bigamist? Where do you find these people?”

“Not me. It was like a hundred years ago. I wasn’t even close to born yet.” He reaches the end of the tunnel and pauses in his story to climb down a ladder that leads into another tunnel. “In any case, he was neither tunneler nor bigamist when Chaucy – that’s his Rider – met him, but he was as good as anyone for building tunnels. He even had a bit of a flair for it.” Armand runs his hands across a decorative row of white enamelled bricks. “But it took
years
to make them all and his Rider got bored.”

“So he got married?”

Armand shrugs. “This was before cable. Or so he tells it.”

I do a double-take. But of course the demon’s still around. Why wouldn’t he be? I reach up as we pass under an arched doorway and run finger across the peak. “Was the… Body… an architect?”

Armand snorts. “Nope, an entomologist. At the Smithsonian.”

I laugh. “A tunneling, bigamist, bug-studier?” Then something occurs to me. “The Devil’s Anthill?”

“It was his design.”

“Chaucy’s or…” I don’t know the Body’s name.

“Harrison’s design,” Armand supplies. “They became friends after a while. He even ended up divorcing his own wife so he could live full-time with Chaucy’s.”

“What happened to Harrison? Did he…” I point downward.

“Sell his soul? Nah. He actually became very spiritual.” Wry smile. “Nothing makes you hope for the existence of God quite like meeting the devil.”

We draw up to a dead end, a wall that appears solid but isn’t. This is it, I know, without him even saying it.

Jo and Chi catch up, and I hear her snort. She points to an inscription in the wall.
Facilis Descensus Averno
. She translates: “The way down to the lower world is easy.”

“So is turning back,” Armand murmurs, but his tone is wistful. He knows I’m not going to change my mind.

Armand sighs, then slips through the wall to check whether the entrance is guarded, leaving Chi, Jo and I to wait.

And to say goodbye.

Armand and I will be entering elsewhere. The only place I’m not going to go in the devil headquarters is anywhere near the two of them.

We all stand around awkwardly for a minute. I hate goodbyes.

Finally Chi grabs me into one of his giant hugs. “Oooof.” Seriously, bears have nothing on this guy.

“Good luck, Meda!” he says, obnoxiously cheerful.

“Mamdnsdff!”

“What was that?” he asks innocently as I jerk out of his arms.

I get back on my feet and straighten my shirt. “One day you’re gonna do that and find a knife in your gut,” I growl.

“No, I’m not,” he grins, blissfully unafraid. “You don’t use knives.” Behind me Jo laughs.

Armand chooses that moment to pop out of the wall. “It’s clear.”

Jo asks Armand something and I murmur to Chi. “Take care of her.”

“Always. And you take care of you.”

I grin. “Always,” I say and he laughs.

“You ready?” Armand asks.

Chi swings an arm over Armand’s shoulder and pulls him around a little bit to give Jo and I a moment of privacy. We regard each other, neither one of us having the slightest idea what to say. There’s too much. Too much between us, too much about to happen, too much at risk. If you know it’s the last time you will probably see your best friend alive, where do you start? And once you start, how can you possibly stop?

“Well,” I say, the best I can come up with.

“Well,” Jo says just as awkwardly.

I clear my throat. “What do you say to a friend when standing at the Gates of Hell?” I ask lightly.

“They’re only the gates to the Gates of Hell,” she points out.

I force a laugh and she forces a smile. “Know-it-all. But good point. What was I worried about?” We trail off into silence again. I jerk my head towards Chi. “Take care of him.”

“
Always
,” she says in a way that lets me know she heard Chi and me just moments earlier. Then she clears her throat and sticks out her hand. “Well, good luck.”

I grab it and give it a shake. “Good luck to you, too.” Then, screw it, I jerk her into a Chi-hug. She yelps as she goes off balance.

“Mmmmasdf!”

“What was that?” I ask, just as innocently as Chi moments ago.

She shoves out of my hug. “I
said
, I
do
use knives.”

I laugh, and she grins.

“Ladies, we need to get moving.” Armand interrupts, thin-lipped.

“Right.” But seriously, what
d
o you say to your best friend when you stand at the gates of the gates of hell?

Nothing. If it’s your best friend, she already knows.

“Bye Jo. Chi.” I turn my back. I hate goodbyes.

“Meda, no.” Jo grabs my arm. She doesn’t let go of it when I turn. Instead she gives it a squeeze. Her eyes hold onto mine. “
See you later
.”

I don’t cry. I’m not the type.

“See you later, Jo.”

It’s a long, quiet drive across town. And we repeat the routine. Into another vacant apartment in the basement of a renovated rowhouse, then down through the brick tunnels beneath. Armand tries to break the silence, but I’m not interested. We wait in silence, Armand’s outrageously nice watch counting down the minutes.

Finally he turns and looks at me. “It’s time.”

It’s time.

I turn and walk into the gates to the Gates of Hell.

Chapter 32

The problem with desperate plans is they always sound better when you’re in an expensive high-rise plotting with your friends. When you’re sitting around a kitchen table, clapping each other on the shoulder and telling yourselves how brave you are, they sound brilliant.

When you’re exhausted from running for miles and miles underground through the gates to the Gates of Hell, bumping into danger at every turn, they seem decidedly less brilliant.

When your partner turns and tells you that your one advantage, that he can hear your enemy’s plans in his head, no longer exists, the plan sounds downright stupid.

It didn’t take long for the demons to realize we’d invaded, but then, in our role as a distraction, we weren’t exactly trying to be sneaky. Ever since, they’ve been hot on our tail, the moments of respite few and far between. Too few and too far between.

We dive through another doorway and pound down the hall. Armand’s mouth is compressed, a slash across his determined face. He leans forward, over his feet, putting as much speed into his stride as possible. He knows he’s holding me back; I’m far faster than he is. But without him, I don’t stand a chance.

Judging by how close the demons are on our tail, it looks like I don’t stand much of a chance with him either.

We cut around a corner and hit a twisted staircase. The steps are all at different heights, so I can’t get a steady stride – damn demons love to be difficult. I have to watch my feet, leaping from one step to another like a billy goat.

We hit the landing and run down a curving hall. Armand pants softly next to me, his mouth now open as his breathing becomes labored. From what I’ve seen, he’s as fast as any demon, but each group of demons is fresh while we’ve been running for what feels like hours. He catches me watching him and lifts his chin, trying to hide his weakness.

“Left, go left,” he pants, and I see a gleam of satisfaction on his face, despite his exhaustion. “Tunnel,” pant, “secret.” I cut hard down a snaky offshoot, and Armand gains a sudden burst of speed and pushes past me. He suddenly dodges to the left, hitting a heavy wood door at full speed and shoving it open. It gives and he staggers to regain his footing. The footsteps are even louder behind us, and he doesn’t bother shutting the door.

We’re in a large library. The walls are round and spiral upward, at least three stories. A ramp with a wrought iron bannister wraps around the walls. Ancient books pack the shelves messily, with slips of paper sticking out here and there. The main section of the room is divided by more shelves and filled with tables and uncomfortable-looking chairs elaborately carved from black stone.

It’s strange to think of demons studying, but Armand demonstrated his geekiness often enough I really shouldn’t be surprised.

There’s another door across the room but Armand doesn’t run for it. Instead he cuts around a set of shelves into a darkened nook. He reaches a shelf and starts tugging at books, frantically shoving them back when nothing happens.

“Tunnel,” he gasps, still breathless. “Haven’t used it in years. Let’s hope…”

He’s searching for a switch, just like in the movies. I start jerking on books as well, our hands blur as we frantically work down the shelf. The pounding of the demons’ hard-soled shoes on marble grows louder as they approach the library.

“Come on, come on,” Armand mutters.

We’re completely cornered. There’s no way we can make it out into the hallway now. I shoot Armand a frantic look, and suddenly he jerks a dark blue volume. The bookcase lurches forward, and a manic grin splits Armand’s face and I hiccup on a happy cry. Armand digs his fingers into the edge and hauls the book case open, revealing a staircase into a pitch black hole. There’s a bang as somewhere behind us a door bounces off a wall. Armand doesn’t hesitate, shoving me in and jumping down behind me. He’s barely caught his balance before he spins to wrench a lever on the wall, swinging the bookcase closed. The little room falls into pitch darkness.

Armand’s gasps sound smothered, and I hear him half stumble a step or two down the stairs. I wish we could rest, catch our breaths, but we can’t. They have the Beacon Map – like sharks, if we stop moving, we’re dead.

As if Armand heard my thoughts, he starts forward again, more cautiously. “Follow me,” he breathes. I move down the steps after him, carefully sliding my foot out until I feel the edge of the step, then cautiously to the one below. “Bottom,” Armand whispers in front of me, his breathing now under better control. Sure enough as I slide my foot out again, I don’t feel the edge of a step. Armand moves forward, I can’t see him but his feet move more confidently. I pick up the pace behind him.

“This leads to – ” Armand comes to a sudden halt and I slam into the back of him in the dark. I hear his breathing pick up again and the shush-shush of hands running over stone.

Something’s wrong, something’s really wrong.

I slide around him, reaching out my hand, blindly groping in the dark and I feel a stone wall in front of us. Armand sidesteps, his arms moving even faster as he feels the wall in front of us. He then moves further to the right.

Please, no, please, no.

“No,” Armand breathes. “No,” he says again and feels along the wall, and I feel with him, our hands moving so furiously in the dark we bump into each other. The wall’s only about six feet across from corner to corner, so it doesn’t take long before we’re forced to accept the inevitable.

“It’s sealed,” Armand whispers, and I can hear my own horror in his voice.

No, no, no.

Armand jerks and I hear the fleshy impact of his hand hitting the wall. “We’re trapped.” I feel him spin beside me. “We’re trapped.” His voice gets lower as he slides down the wall, defeat pulling him down.

I turn and lean back against the wall, needing the support. I squeeze my eyes closed, not that it makes any difference in the dark, but it makes me feel better. It makes me feel like I’m separate from everything. Like I’m not here, like this can’t be happening. There has to be a way out. There has to be another option. I fling my arms out to either side, as if to double-check if the wall is still there.

Yeah, it is.

The demons move briskly around above us, searching the library. It’s hard to tell exactly how many there are, muffled as the sounds are by the stone ceiling, but it’s obvious there’s a large crowd. Over a dozen, easy. With the Beacon Map, it’s only a matter of time before someone realizes where we are. Honestly, it’s a surprise they haven’t already. Then it’s over. I can’t fight them all. We are well and truly trapped.

I slide down the wall next to Armand.

It’s fitting that the room is pitch black and cold, for it is a tomb. I can’t see my hand in front of my face and I can’t see Armand. No light leaks down the staircase from the door above. There’s nothing but the harsh sound of Armand’s breathing, his warmth at my side, and the pounding steps of our impending doom above us.

There’s no escape, and we both know it.

I make a sound, one of frustration and defeat and anger and push my palms into my eye sockets, hard. Armand’s strong arm reaches out in the dark, wrapping around me, enfolding me like a wing.

“I’m sorry, Meda.” The words are soft, a hoarse rumble that I feel more than I see. But it’s not his fault. I’m the one responsible for
his
doom, for being unwilling to accept the inevitable. This hare-brained scheme was mine; I dragged him into it.

I wonder what the demons will do to him, once we’re caught. Torture him for sure. Kill him, possibly.

But I don’t apologize. Instead, I shake those thoughts away entirely. I haven’t time for regret. It’s my last few minutes alive, and I won’t waste them on blame, even my own. Especially my own.

They say when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes, but mine doesn’t. What a waste that would be; why think of all the things I’ve already done? Good or bad, they’re already mine. Instead, I think of the things I want, the memories I’ve yet to make. As the minutes in our pitch black hole creep and sprint, simultaneously lightning fast and terrifyingly slow, I think of the adventures I’ll never have. I think of birthdays I’ll never reach, jokes I’ll never hear. I think of growing old. I think of wheelchair races with Jo in the nursing home sixty years from now. I think of Armand.

When your wallet’s stolen, do you think of the good things you already bought? No, you think of things you would have had. But unlike money, once someone’s stolen your life, you can’t get more.

I remember jeering when Chi announced to Jo, in the midst of demon-fighting hell, that he’d loved her all his life. But now I suddenly get it. When your life is shortened to mere minutes, it has a way of focusing your priorities. You’re in the burning house of your life – what’s that one item you’re going to grab?

For me, it’s Armand’s hand.

His breath catches as my hand finds his in the dark. For a moment he does nothing, then he exhales and wraps his fingers around mine. It’s warm, his hand, in the cold dark. Palm to palm, we’re connected, and I imagine I can feel his heartbeat pulsing in time with my own.

I mentally laughed at my mom for her euphemism when she warned me never to “give myself” to someone I can’t trust. But as usual, I’m an idiot. It wasn’t a euphemism. She wasn’t talking about sex – or at least not only sex. Turns out there’s a lot of ways to give yourself to someone.

I’ve given a part to Armand. If he dies a part of me will go with him. It’s almost fortunate, then, that the rest of me will soon follow.

But, still, I don’t want to think of that now. I don’t have the luxury. Instead, I pretend the world away. We’re back on the roof of the school, sitting under the stars and daydreaming of blood and shadows.

The demons are still pounding around the room upstairs. I don’t know how they still haven’t found us though I can’t help but be grateful. Each minute is a gift.

There’s a long silent moment. “I’m sorry,” Armand says again, but this time it feels different. There’s an aching heaviness to it, a depth of pain and sorrow, and a mess of other things I can’t even begin to decipher. I turn to him, wishing I could search his face, but of course I can see nothing.

I wonder if he, too, is thinking of our futures, and what we’ll miss. We’ve always been alike, he and I.

I feel his breath on my face and know he’s facing me. We’re close, so close, and I think of another thing I’ve never done. Not really. I lean in, and now I’m sure I can hear his heart, hammering in his chest. Or maybe it’s my own. Or it’s both.

Thump.

The sound from above makes us jump apart. The demons are at the entrance to our hiding space. They’ll be on us any minute.

In sync we squeeze each other’s hands, then scramble to our feet. We work our way toward the stairs, careful in the dark, and I press myself against the wall. Our best bet is to jump the first one down the stairs before he can make a noise, then get out of the tunnel. We may find a way to run. Unlikely, but it’s our only shot.

And really, I kinda wanna kill some folks – my other dying wish.

The fire comes, flooding over me. All tiredness is forgotten, sadness and sentimentality swallowed, as the violent Hunger crawls through my system, begging for the red.

I will bathe in it.

My predator’s eyes are on the ceiling, not that it does any good, and they track the footsteps toward the entrance.

You may find us, but you will regret it.

The footsteps come into the cubby and I crouch as they move around the shelves. They reach the wall.

Any minute now, any minute.

There’s a low rumble, a growl coming from my throat. My eyes are fixed where I know the door to be. I will rip out his throat.

But then the boots suddenly turn away, and take a few steps in the other direction.
What? How can they not find us?
I turn my face toward where I think Armand is, hoping he’ll answer, but he stays silent.

Then there’s another loud rumble, but this one isn’t from me. It grows louder and louder, and closer. More demons coming?

God, no, not more.

Angry shouting erupts overhead, but I can’t make out their words. It’s loud enough, I risk speaking. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” Armand whispers back. “Reinforcements?”

Damn.

There’s an explosive bang above and I duck as the whole room vibrates, and dust rains down on me.
What the hell?

Then there’s no mistaking the sounds that follow: the sounds of battle.

“It’s not reinforcements.” I breathe. I can’t believe it.

It’s Crusaders.