The Brimstone Deception (24 page)

“Networking? Or collusion?” Rake looked to the demon lord. “You, Lord Zagam, desired a way out of your realm and into that belonging to the humans. I say ‘your realm' only in the sense that you reside there. You neither rule nor own it.” The goblin smiled broadly. “I think we all know who does. And since you do not own it, you are legally ineligible to sell, lease, or rent brimstone mining rights to anyone. And you, Isidor, along with your brother, Phaon, needed access to molten brimstone. You dislike me intensely; your brother wanted to disrupt goblin intelligence, so you chose my wine cellar to anchor the pocket dimension containing your Hellpit. I am the legal owner of that property. You sought neither my permission nor offered me an owner's share in drug profits.” Rake's smile was slow and confident. “Anchoring your Hellpit on my property is trespassing. Selling mining rights to a mineral you do not own is outright theft. I don't own Hell, so I have no legal recourse. I do, however, own this property. I could charge you rent, Lord Zagam. Or I could evict you.” Rake glanced around with exaggerated distaste. “At the very least, I want to redecorate,” he muttered. “But for now, I'll go with eviction.”

The demon lord smiled as he gazed around the ever-expanding pit and cavern, ending with Kitty imprisoned in the ice. “You are welcome to try, mortal.”

“As a very wise teacher well-known in this dimension once said: ‘Do or do not. There is no try.' I fully intend to ‘do.' Alastor Malvolia was hired and paid to draw up a contract between the two of you. You call yourself partners, but there is no trust between you, hence the contract. Alastor did as he was paid to do—and more.” Rake shook his head in admiration. “To the two of you, contracts are merely words written with ink, and aren't worth the paper they're written on if you choose to go back on your word.” He regarded the
envelope and its contents with something close to pride. “But this little document is truly a marvel of evil magic and legal genius. Alastor not only drafted the words, he crafted the paper from both demonic and elven skin, then he mixed his own goblin blood into the ink. His words, in his blood, paper from your people, and your signatures to soul-bind you to every word on this document.”

The demon lord smiled, showing even more sharp teeth than his mini-me. “This is a pocket dimension, created and owned by myself and Magus Silvanus. I am not in violation of the contract as we are not in Hell.”

“Speak for yourself,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“You may own the pocket dimension,” Rake continued, “but you do not own the brimstone that is now flowing through it. You have misrepresented your rights of ownership to all of this brimstone. According to the contract, that means the brimstone's true and legal owner is entitled to collect damages or recompense in any manner he chooses. I don't believe His Dread Majesty will be pleased to discover that his trusted chancellor profited from the sale of his property.” Rake's dark eyes landed on Isidor Silvanus, and a faint smile curled one corner of his mouth. “Or that an outsider knowingly purchased said property and exploited its use for additional gain, making you both equally guilty of grand theft. Only later did you discover Alastor's trickery in drawing up the contract—and you killed him for it.”

“I should have ensured the goblin lawyer was conscious and then cooked him at a lower temperature.” Isidor Silvanus smiled indulgently. “But what's done is done. Now here you are with the original—and sole remaining—copy. As usual Rake, you do far too little, too late.”

The pointed base of Kitty's icicle prison ran water in a steady stream. Silvanus's concentration was wavering, and Kitty's prison was melting faster.

“You say you prefer networking,” Rake continued as if Kitty had all the time in the world. Son of a bitch. “Networking
has its place, but so does rendering mutually beneficial favors.” He raised his voice to a ringing shout. “Have you heard enough, Dread Majesty?”

A red forearm the size of Rake's entire body emerged from the brimstone right beside the rock he was standing on. It rippled with lean muscles, and each long finger was tipped by a sharp, black nail. Thankfully we couldn't see the rest of it, but from elbow to fingertip, it looked just like the demon lord, albeit ten times his size.

If size meant higher on the power ladder in Hell, then Isidor Silvanus's demon lord pal was this big guy's bitch—or if he wasn't already, he was about to be. The thumb and forefinger extended toward Rake like he was about to pinch the goblin's head clean off his shoulders.

Rake didn't flinch, but coolly reached out and put the contract between the two fingers.

The demonic fingers pinched closed and submerged beneath the bubbling surface.

A collective, disbelieving gasp came from all of us.

Isidor Silvanus's was more on the horrified end of the spectrum.

The demon lord looked ready to faint.

Oh yeah, someone was in trouble.

“No need for concern,” Rake told us. “The paper content is seventy percent demon skin, making it hellfire and brimstone proof.”

Considering that Kitty was inside a melting icicle over a Hellpit, I didn't give a rat's ass that the paper was seventy-percent recycled demon.

“Dammit, Rake, hurry up!” I whispered.

“While your master is reviewing the contract,” Rake said, “apparently for the first time—do be reasonable and release Miss Poertner.”

The demon lord inhaled, turned to Kitty's icicle, and blew freaking fire directly at her. What was left of the ice kept Kitty from bursting into flames, but the icicle was history.

Kitty fell, screaming.

Rake caught her.

He didn't run across the surface of the brimstone and catch her as she fell—though that would have been impressive, too. He extended his arm, spread the fingers of his hand, and her fall stopped.

That would be magic.

Kitty's eyes were as wide as saucers at the sensation of dangling in midair over a pit of molten and popping brimstone.

Isidor Silvanus threw a fist full of acid-green fire at her only to have it deflected by the bubble-like shield Rake had wrapped around her.

Kitty screamed again.

I didn't blame her. Though this scream was less fear and more rage at being held in the air and used for target practice.

The elf dark mage simply chose another target.

Us.

Isidor Silvanus clenched his hands into fists, brought them sharply together, then wrenched them apart.

And the rock beneath our feet snapped apart like slabs of ice from an iceberg, putting me, Ian, and Martin each on a hula-hoop-sized personal island, surrounded by, and floating—not so well—in, boiling brimstone.

The jolt knocked me off my feet, and the sudden shift in weight tipped my slab of rock and nearly tossed me over the side. I desperately grabbed the edge, brimstone spitting like Hell's bacon grease on my hands and face.

I screamed. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it.

This
was why Isidor Silvanus wanted us here. Rake couldn't save all of us, and the elf knew—despite what he said about Rake only caring about himself—that he'd try to save some of us. More hostages, more distractions, more chance of success for Silvanus. He'd thought about what could go wrong and he'd covered all of his bases.

“This is an unwanted complication,” Martin noted.

Rake quickly gave the elf a taste of his own medicine.

The ledge where Isidor Silvanus was standing suddenly broke away from the cavern floor and tilted sharply down toward the Hellpit. The elf mage had to scramble to stay on his feet. Rake used the distraction to pull his extended hand to his chest, bringing Kitty with it. This time, he did catch her in his arms. Kitty didn't look any happier now than she had while dangling.

The demon lord bellowed in rage and flicked his clawed hand at Rake and Kitty. A sickly green blur formed in the air, coalescing into a massive snake, its head rearing far above Rake's head. The snake launched itself at them.

Rake barked a single word, and a shield of shimmering red appeared between he and Kitty and the snake. The serpent's head struck the shield with a frustrated hiss. The shield buckled but held. Barely.

Even if Rake hadn't had his arms and hands full, we had a worse problem that even the most hotshot mage couldn't magic away.

I thought my eyes had to be playing tricks on me, but they weren't. The brimstone's level was going down.

The Hellpit was draining.

Into Hell.

And taking us with it.

“This is bad,” Martin said. “Once the pit drains, we'll be in Hell and any demon that wants to come into this world can do so.” For the first time I saw fear in Martin DiMatteo's eyes. “And the Hellpit will be permanently open.”

There were only a few feet between us and the rim of the Hellpit. The newly exposed rock steamed at the contact with the cooler air, rock that only seconds before had been under molten brimstone. Martin was closest to the rim. He could make it if he jumped now.

“Dammit, Marty!” Ian roared. “Jump!”

With a defiant squeak, Marty leapt, just clearing the distance between his sinking slab and the cavern floor, both feet making a surprisingly solid landing.

Ian's slab was a few feet behind Marty's. There was no way I could make that jump, but Ian could. Both of us didn't have to die.

“Go!” I shouted over the chaos. “You can't help me from there!”

Ian jumped. One foot made it over the top. His left boot caught in the steaming rock, and the leather caught fire. Fred grabbed a double-handful of Ian's leather jacket and pulled with everything he had. He and Ian landed in a heap on the cavern floor.

The slab that was taking me down to Hell like my own personal elevator had moved too far from any shore. There wasn't any direction that was a jumpable distance. Even if I could clear the distance, any part of my body that touched that shoreline would be instantly flash fried. Once the brimstone drained, I'd be an appetizer for the demons waiting at the bottom for the feast that was New York.

We had guns, we had knives, but we didn't have a fire-proof climbing rope.

My line of vision was now below the rim of the pit, but gunfire and flashes of red and acid green light accompanied by explosions and falling rock told me that everyone else was busy simply staying alive. The heat was overwhelming. I had to keep breathing, but each breath seared my mouth, throat, and lungs. I felt like I was cooking from the inside out. My grip on the slab began to slip.

“Mac!” came a shout from above.

I weakly raised my head.

Ian was on his hands and knees, leaning out over the pit. “Help's coming, Mac! Hang on!”

A moment later all I could do was stare in openmouthed horror as Rake Danescu—protected only by the red glow of his personal shields—dove into the molten brimstone surrounding me.

He surfaced seconds later next to my slab, intact and not burned to a crisp, though he was sweating.

I was beyond words, not only because I couldn't breathe for the heat, but from seeing Rake treading brimstone like water. I must have been dying
and
delirious.

Rake reached up and grabbed my forearm, his hand cool and soothing. How could . . .?

I blinked the sweat out of my eyes and looked down.

Rake's hand was glowing with his shielding spell—and now, so was my arm.

The glow spread until my entire body was encased in its protective field.

My vision began to clear, and I could breathe again.

“Let go of the rock, Makenna,” Rake was saying.

What?
“Are you—”

“Crazy? Kidding? Neither. I can't hold against this vortex for long. I'll swim us over to the wall.”

My only other choice had me waiting to be sucked into Hell. Die in Rake's arms or be ripped apart by demons that never learned to share their food?

I let go of the slab and slid into Rake's arms.

And into the brimstone. Brimstone that amazingly felt no hotter than hot bathwater.

Rake flashed a quick grin as he held me tightly against his chest. “Like being in a hot tub, except we're not naked.”

My mouth was parched. I swallowed and panted. “If that hot tub . . . was draining into Hell.” I thought for a moment. “Why didn't you pull . . . me out like you did with Kitty?”

“That trick's one shot only.”

The goblin was breathing heavily from keeping our heads above the brimstone and fighting the force of the whirlpool at the center of the pit that was beginning to pick up more speed.

Rake had expended an incredible amount of magical energy. Catching Kitty, fighting Silvanus, shielding the two of us—it all picked that moment to catch up with him. The current grabbed us both, sweeping us away from the walls and toward the pit's now churning center.

I couldn't think, I couldn't react, and I had no air to scream.

Rake's grip around my waist and back never lessened.

A swell of brimstone passed between us and the vortex. Something was swimming just beneath the surface. Something huge.

A white worm as big around as a pair of fifty-five-gallon drums breached the surface like a whale. The massive head swiveled and two pitch-black eyes the size of a man's fist focused on us.

It was a larger version of Marty's demon toddler.

One of the parents. Or
the
parent, depending on how demonic white worms reproduced.

I'd given up trying to make sense of anything I'd seen since stepping through that portal. I stared in dumbfounded amazement. It was all my stunned mind could do.

Rake's cough sounded like a laugh.

The giant worm submerged, and my stomach tightened at what I knew it was going to do.

Oh crap, crap,
crap
!

Rake tightened his grip on me. “Hang on, darling.”

The worm surfaced again right next to us, gently but forcefully nudging us away from the vortex and toward the nearest wall. I'd heard of dolphins supporting drowning swimmers and pushing them toward shore. I never expected to experience it with a dolphin in the ocean, much less with a demon worm in a brimstone whirlpool.