Hunting in Hell (10 page)

Or of his lies.

No, best to leave her alone with the Mademoiselle, and wait and see how this whole thing plays out.
 

He heard their approach only seconds before they passed into his line of sight.
 
By then, though, he had leapt up onto the roof and laid himself flat against the tile.
 
Tapping his
kevra
, he sought the cave inside, a dead hollow devoid of thought or breath, and let it pull him in.
 
Within moments, he fell into himself, and his form vanished from the outside world.

It was dangerous, using his
kevra
.
 
There was always the possibility that when he submerged himself in the placid waters of his inner oasis, he would go too far.
 
He didn't know what would happen then, but he imagined that finding his way back would be next to impossible.
 

Not that I would care.

Death had no secrets for him anymore.

* * *

The Mademoiselle did not stay in the Cantina.
 
Instead, she kept a small house within walking distance.
 
Tiny, quaint, and unremarkable, it had struck De la Roca as silly, until she stepped inside and felt the power pulsing through the walls.
 
Older and wiser now, she wondered if this was actually the location of the fabled waypoint to Hell.
 
If so, she didn't want to be crossing the threshold—which, of course, she
was.

The Mademoiselle was whistling to herself, completely unaware of (or perhaps merely uncaring of) De la Roca's unease.
 
She whisked through a beaded curtain, a tacky thing that made the mercenary think of a gypsy's trinket shop, and lit a stick of incense.

Really?
 
Wasn't that a bit, well, overly theatrical?
 
De la Roca longed to call Alsvior and gallop away, but she doubted she'd ever find the Phoenix Well without the Mademoiselle's help.
 

Worse, her hand kept creeping toward her stomach, toward the place the
kevra
stone inhabited.
 
Already, she knew it had burrowed into her flesh and become a part of her.
 
Nonchalantly, she moved her hand away, before she could attract the attention of the Mademoiselle.

The mademoiselle pursed her lips.
 
"As you may remember from last time, I'm going to be …
inaccessible
for a while."

Her thoughts guarded, De la Roca nodded once.

 
"I didn't want to worry you in the Cantina, but strange forces have been afoot lately in these parts.
 
I would feel better with you watching over me.
 
As you may already know, I am particularly vulnerable when searching through the Archives and would not be able to appropriately defend myself."

De la Roca held back any expression of surprise, but her once-human heart quickened.
 
I don't remember her asking for that the first time.
 
And what was this talk of "strange forces?"
 
She pulled her pistol and
Bluot
out of their holsters.

"You have my guns—both of them."

"Is that
Bluot
?" The Mademoiselle's eyes suddenly blazed with interest.
 

De la Roca did not have to answer.
 
Recognizing its own name, the gun started to hum in her hand.
 
"Quiet now."
 
She holstered the pistol and stroked the revolver with the other hand.
 
"Do not awaken, there is nothing for you now.
 
Later, there will be blood."
 
Momentarily appeased, the gun stopped humming, and she placed it back in its holster.

"Would it really have awoken?"

"Perhaps.
 
If so, it may have shot one of us.
 
I would advise against calling its name, for you know as well as I that once the gun is fully …
aware
, it must take a life.

The Mademoiselle nodded solemnly, but her eyes sparkled with fascination, and her voice was wistful.
 
"Were I but a gunslinger."
 
She shook her head.
 
"Enough talk, though.
 
It is time."

She folded her legs under her and sat on the floor.
 
The air shimmered and hummed with power, and the stone in her flesh responded to it, vibrating with excitement.
 
It sent her tiny images, sensations, and she could feel the Mademoiselle's descent as clearly as she could feel the temperature of the room and the pressure of the chair beneath her.

And then the air seemed to shudder once, and the Mademoiselle went completely still.
 
She had opened the Archives.

De la Roca's skin crawled at the Mademoiselle's lack of life.
 
It was if her soul had departed in haste, leaving behind a cocoon of skin and bones.
 

She heard a noise—the crunch of a foot on gravel.
 
Whistling for Alsvior, she drew both guns and ran for the door. Already, she could hear his hoofbeats, and the tiny dwelling shook with the force of each heavy blow to the dirt.

As she exited, she cast a glance back, toward the Mademoiselle.
 
Completely unaware of the mayhem, the woman was locked in her trance, her dead face somehow peaceful.

Nine

H
is hat was tipped forward on his head, and the smoke of a cigarette rose from his hand.
 
It was clear from the way he leaned against the wall that he was waiting for someone.
 
Somehow, De la Roca got the feeling he knew she was there.

"Hello."
 
He raised the hat back slightly, his eyebrows darting up when he caught sight of her.
 
She had both guns drawn and pointed square at his head.

"Can I help you?"
 
Her cold voice negated any sincerity in the question.
  

"Well, I don’t know.
 
I'm here to see the Mademoiselle, but last time I heard, she didn't carry a gun."

De la Roca squinted, and she felt her finger squeeze the trigger ever-so-slightly.
 
"The Mademoiselle is currently indisposed.
  
Perhaps you should come back later."

Alsvior whickered, a cue that she understood and agreed with—
shoot now, and ask questions later
.
 
Her forefinger squeezed a little more, until a thought whipped into her mind—
what if he was a friend of the Mademoiselle?
 
Nobody knew exactly how powerful she was, but you didn’t want to make enemies with anybody that controlled a waypoint to Hell unless you had to.

Damn
.

The man seemed to sense her hesitation and relaxed visibly, shooting her a grease-laden smile.

I should blow him away, the cocky prick.
 

 
As he tipped his hat up further, she caught sight of his eyes, green—
no, hazel
—with flecks of gold.
 
Human or demon, it was a rare combination.
 
Worse, their dancing light made it clear that he was laughing at her.

She reconsidered pulling the trigger.

"I see."
 
He drew the words out slightly.
 
"In that case, will you give her my regards?"
 
He turned to leave and began to walk away, only to pause a few steps later, as if in an afterthought.
 
"Hate to be a bother, but you wouldn’t happen to know how to get to the Phoenix Well, would you?"

De la Roca's guns had both sagged slightly as the newcomer turned to leave.
 
Instantly, her arms flashed back up, electrified, one pointed at his forehead and one at his heart.
 
With demons, you could never be sure as to the exact location of any vital organ, but her chosen targets were a good place to start.

"Now where,
exactly
, did you hear that name?"
 
Her hiss, hard and sibilant, reminded her of the serpent's-voice.
 
Could that voice actually be her own, another part of her?

"I don’t know what you mean, lady.
 
My next assignment is at the Phoenix Well and that's why I need to find it.
  
Unfortunately, I'm not from around here, and there aren't too many safe people in my line of work—
our
line of work, De la Roca."

Her eyes flashed open with surprise, but only momentarily.
 
He looks like a mercenary, too—of course he knows my name.
 
That didn’t exactly make him a friend.
 
And
why
didn't she know who
he
was?
 
"And what, exactly, would you be hunting up there?"

"Oh, the same as you, I suppose.
 
There's only one
individual
up at the Phoenix Well."

She bristled, a slew of calculating questions stampeding through her mind.
 
He talks about it like it’s a place, a rock formation or a mountain. And if he's hunting the same demon, who sent him?
 
Could it have been the Angel?
 
Does that mean the Angel expects me to fail?

The
kevra
stone pulsed once, lazily, as if to remind her of an option she hadn't considered.

Of course.
 
She wasn’t sure how well the power would work on a demon, especially as she hadn’t begun to come close to mastering it, but it was worth a shot.
 

He is a demon, right?
 
The Angel wouldn’t send a human.
 
Then again, who knew how an angel worked and what tools they chose?

Urgently, she burrowed deeper into herself, reaching for the dark part where the stone lay.
 
It thrummed as it stirred, the power coiling lazily in her entrails.
 
With a sudden rush, it pummeled through her body,
pushing
her toward the abyss of his mind.
 
She sighed, steadying herself, and then she leaned into him and began the fall.
 

She landed with a splash and was struck with the overwhelming sensation of icy water.
 
Submerged and disoriented, she panicked, until she broke through to the surface.
 

The newcomer's thoughts were strange, but as she had used the stone so few times, she had little to compare them to.
 
Stupid!
 
I should have tried this thing out earlier.
 
She drifted for a moment, feeling the tow of the powerful waves.
 

They are speaking.
 
She squinted and tried to decipher the voices of the waves, but the whispers and murmurs were unintelligible.
 
The few words she could make out meant nothing to her, as if in another language.

She could feel his muted emotions pulling at her from all sides, but there were no clear ideas to seize upon, and nothing that would reveal the stranger's intent.
 
Amazing.
 
My mind is locked doors and ordered boxes—and his?
 
It was wild, free, without boundary and untamed.
 
She had never felt anything like it.

Vaguely, she was aware of Alsvior.
 
Not skilled enough yet to fully divide her consciousness, she maintained a slim line to him, an anchor that she trusted to pull her back out of the stone's influence in the event that something went wrong.
 
She knew that if the stranger shifted so much as an inch, Alsvior would find a way to get through to her, even at the cost of his own life.