The Crossing (Immortals) (39 page)

"Me, neither," Travis professed. "And as for freeing a
soul from Ptolomaea? Shucks, that needs an okay from
the big man himself. Satan."

Angel hooted. "The witch could try throwing herself on
Lucifer's mercy."

"Except we all know he has none," Drager said grimly.

"None at all." Travis looked slightly ill. "You know, I
reckon I've had enough of Hell. This place gives me the
willies."

"Agreed," Drager said. "Let's get back to my realm."

Travis's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me? Your realm? I
believe Shadowhaven is mine now."

Drager grunted. "Like hell. Is that a challenge?"

Travis smiled thinly. "Sure as hell is."

Angel whipped his tail. "Oh, good! Another fight!"

Drager cracked his knuckles. "Let's get to it, then."

The trio ducked through the portal. Artemis met Mac's
gaze. "Go after them."

"And leave you here, to deal with Satan? I think not,
love."

"Zander... he isn't your concern. Leanna is."

"Both of them are," Mac said. "And you are." His gaze
fell on her stomach. "And our son is as well."

Tears crowded Artemis's eyes. "You might not be able to
save us all, Mac."

He stood. "I mean to try."

He tried first to open Ptolomaea. But the odd little
demon hadn't lied. The door wouldn't budge. In contrast, the merest touch set the door to Lucifer's inner
sanctum swinging. The darkness beyond was thick. When
Mac stepped into it, he actually felt the absence of light
on his skin.

"Mac-"

He looked back at Artemis, cradling Leanna's head on
her lap. Her dark eyes were wide. "Be careful."

He nearly laughed. Careful kept people safe in their
beds at night. It didn't take them into the presence of pure
evil. "No worries, love. I'll be back before you know it."

He hoped.

He plunged into the darkness. He hadn't taken more
than a half dozen steps when he came to a narrow, circular
stair. There were no handrails that he could discern; gripping the center vertical bar, he began his descent. Six hundred sixty-six steps later, he reached the bottom.

A faint yellow light appeared, illuminating a polished
wood door. The iron latch bore no lock. Briefly, Mac considered knocking, then decided against it. He didn't imagine Lucifer was unaware of his approach.

He pushed the door open. His eyes met the dancing
light of a fire, contained in a civilized manner by a stone
mantel and hearth. The blaze cast its light on a cozy library that had none of the appearance of a hellhole. Mahogany
bookcases lined the walls from floor to gallery above.
Rows upon rows of leather-bound volumes filled the
shelves, gold lettering gleaming in the soft light.

A desk was all but bare, ink and quill set neatly to one
side, its comfortable-looking leather chair unoccupied. A
large globe rested on a stand in one corner, a sideboard
with decanter and glasses stood ready in another. A thickpile Persian carpet spread the length and width of the
room, its fringe on either end dusting polished hardwood.

A high, wingback chair faced the fire. A small table next
to it held a blue china bowl. A poker and bellows lay
against an iron stand on one side of the hearth; a toasting
fork hung on the other. A brass spittoon rested between
hearth and chair.

The mantel bore a black lacquered clock, gently ticking.

No voice greeted Mac's entry. No welcome. No threat,
either. He called a spark of elfshot to his fingers.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he advanced to the center of the room.

"Hello?"

No answer. Was the Lord of Hell abroad? Mac dragged
a hand through his hair. If Lucifer wasn't in his lair, where
could Mac begin to look for him?

He started as a skeletal hand and arm emerged from the
shelter of the wingback chair, reaching for the china bowl.
Dipping inside, it withdrew a small morsel. A peanut, perhaps? The owner of the arm retracted the limb. It disappeared behind the chair. Mac heard a pop as teeth
crunched and chewed.

Then silence.

Mac strode to the hearth. Pivoting to face the chair, he
inclined his head.

Lucifer did not look up.

Mac studied the Lord of Hell. Satan, Mac decided,
looked less like evil incarnate than he did someone's eccentric elderly uncle. His features were angular-eyes
set deeply under slashing brows, a hawk's nose, a thinlipped mouth and jutting chin. Despite the generous heat
thrown off by the fireplace, the devil's withered frame was
swathed in an argyle cardigan sweater. Brown trousers
hung on his bony legs. His stockinged feet were propped
on an ottoman. Slippers waited nearby.

The devil's throat emitted a scraping sound. A moment
later, he spat, the chewed morsel striking the spittoon with
a clang.

Mac cleared his throat. "Sir-?"

"Silence." The command was softly given, but no less
forceful for its lack of volume. Lucifer raised his hand
again, his fingers dipping into the china bowl. Mac glanced
inside it.

What he saw inside the bowl made his stomach heave.

Not peanuts. Not at all.

Lucifer's fingers fished inside the basin. Mac was close
enough now to hear the faint, terrified squeals of the devil's
prey. Corpses-once alive and human, now dead and
shrunk to the size of candied nuts-scrambled to avoid Lucifer's claws. One did not succeed. Lifted high, pinned between the devil's thumb and forefinger, the damned man's
limbs waved frantically. His cries, all but unintelligible,
squeaked.

Lucifer held his victim up to the light, a smile stretching his thin lips as he peered at the squirming, pleading
soul before plopping it into his mouth. Mac stared, horrified, as the devil's teeth popped the corpse. His jaw
worked. A blissful expression washed over his face. At
last, long after the corpse's cries had faded, Lucifer leaned
forward and spat.

His victim hit the spittoon. For a moment the dead man
just lay there, groaning. A moment later, he heaved himself to his feet and disappeared.

Satan spoke. "Do you wonder what happened to him?" He waved a hand toward the china bowl. "He's back with
the others now. Waiting and wondering when he'll be chosen again."

Mac swallowed. "Ingenious."

The devil met his gaze. "Do you pity him?"

"Yes."

"Don't bother. He deserves his punishment. All of
them do."

Mac nodded. He had no doubt but it was true.

Lucifer eyed him. "You don't belong in Hell, Manannan
mac Lit. Let alone in my private den. Why are you here?"

"I'm sure you know."

Lucifer's lips twitched. "That is the correct answer. For
that, I will not dispose of you immediately." He paused.
"You thought to fight me."

"I thought to try."

"Put the notion from your mind. You cannot. Outside
magic has no power here."

Mac had already realized that. When he cast his senses
inward, he felt nothing. No life magic. No death magic.
Just... mortality.

"You seek a soul ensconced at present in Ptolomaea,"
the devil went on. "And safe passage to the upper world
for yourself and the two women under your care."

"Yes."

"You are not unintelligent. You know there will be a
price."

"I do."

"You will not like it."

Mac crossed his arms and met Satan's gaze squarely.
"I'm sure that's true. Nevertheless, I will pay."

The devil smiled. "Excellent."

What was taking so long?

Artemis hardly dared drag her eyes from the archway
leading to Lucifer's lair. Mac had been gone for... well, she didn't know how long. She'd lost all sense of time. But
she wanted him back-now.

Leanna wasn't going to last much longer. Angry burns
covered her legs. She was only semiconscious.

Mac's sister let out a soft moan. The sound melded horribly with the wails rising from the lava pit. Leanna's eyes
moved behind closed lids; she clutched at air, muttering.
Caught in a nightmare. Artemis owed her so much. She
didn't even want to contemplate what might have happened if Leanna hadn't returned with an army of
Malachi's thralls.

Artemis leaned close. "Leanna? Can you hear me? It's
just a dream. Wake up."

Leanna answered with a moan.

"Come on. Wake up!"

She shook Leanna's shoulders, gently, until her gray
eyes opened. For a moment she just stared, dazed. Then
recognition sparked.

"You. You're... the witch... that Mac loves."

"Yes."

Leanna tried to sit up, grimaced, and sank down again,
stirring a fine dusting of ash. "Mac... he pulled me out of
the pit. Where is he? Where is my brother?"

Artemis swallowed. "He's gone to fight."

"Fight? With whom? We won the battle. We were supposed to follow Travis and the others-"

"The portal to Shadowhaven is closed now."

"I don't understand. Why didn't we go through?"

Artemis bit her lip. "I told Mac to go. With you. He...
he wouldn't. I came to Hell to rescue my son. But..." She
made a helpless gesture toward Ptolomaea. "We couldn't
open the gate. No one can, except Satan himself."

Leanna jerked upright, gasping-whether from pain or
outrage, Artemis couldn't tell.

"You said he's gone to fight. With Lucifer?"

Artemis nodded.

"Gods. He'll never win. He'll never even get a chance to
try. Life magic can't be cast in Satan's private sanctuary."

It was as if a tight hand had reached out and clamped
Artemis's throat. No life magic, and Mac had sworn never
to cast death magic again. "I couldn't stop him. I tried to go
after him, to help, but the door closed behind him. That was
hours ago. I think. I can't tell how much time has passed-"

A tremor shook the cavern.

"Gods in Annwyn," Leanna whispered. "Do you feel
that?"

She wasn't talking about the vibrations, but the magic.
Death magic woven from pure malice. Hatred stretching
from eternity, into eternity.

The platform upon which they sat trembled, like a living thing consumed with fear. A crack appeared, widening
as it raced across solid rock. Artemis scrambled to one
side, heaving Leanna with her. Clinging together, they
watched the fissure hurtle straight as an arrow, toward
Ptolomaea.

It hit the portal with a deafening crash. Shock waves reverberated, knocking Artemis and Leanna flat. It was all
Artemis could do to keep them both from being swept
backward into the pit.

"Look!" Leanna whispered. "The door's cracking!"

Artemis's heart leaped. It was true-a network of cracks
spread across the blank face of Ptolomaea's archway. She
watched, heart pounding, as the fragments separated and
fell. They crashed to the ground and shattered to dust.

Wisps of white emerged.

Souls. Innocent souls- Children, dancing in a stream of
pure joy. And there, in the midst of the laughing torrent,
was Zander.

His form, already indistinct, blurred even more.

"Mommy!"

She leaped to her feet and stretched out her hand.
"Zander! Come here!"

"I can't, Mommy-not yet. I have to go with the others-"

Artemis's gaze followed the path of the white, shining
river of souls. Winding a graceful arc, it cascaded into the
fissure in a constant, downward flow. The movement generated a swift, suctioning wind. Artemis found herself and
Leanna being drawn into it.

"But where?" she shouted. "Where are you going?"

"Don't you know, Mommy? We're going home! And you're
coming, too!"

Leanna, still sprawled on the ground, was trying to
struggle to her feet. "No! We can't leave Mac! He's-"

"Right here," a voice said.

Artemis turned, gasping, as Mac's arm came hard around
her shoulders.

"Mac. You're alive." Her gaze shot to the door leading
to Satan's lair, gaping open now. "But how? Did you fight
Lucifer?"

An odd expression flitted across Mac's face. "No. That's
not possible. Details later, love. Once we're out of this
place." Bending, he scooped Leanna into his arms.

"Mac." Leanna's voice was thready. "I was afraid...
you were gone for good."

"Not so easy to get rid of me, love."

"I'm... glad...." Her eyes closed, her head lolling to
one side.

Mac set his jaw. "Artemis. Let's get out of here."

"Of course. Do you... do you know how?"

He nodded at the stream of souls. "Follow them."

They stepped into the river of souls. Brilliant light enveloped them; Artemis could do nothing but let it take her,
body and soul. She was aware of a rapid downward rush,
like the free fall of a roller coaster. Then a long, sustained
glide of upward movement. A sound like an explosion.
Then...

No motion at all.

Just blessed ground cradling her hip and the tickle of grass on her bare arm. Nearby, the bleat of a sheep sounded
like a gentle laugh. Artemis opened her eyes and looked
up into a brilliant blue sky, dotted with clouds. A cool
breeze caressed her skin.

The sun, bright and loving, peeked from behind a cloud
to add a touch of warmth to her face. The rays poured
through a dancing, shimmering current of air.

The souls from Ptolomaea.

"Zander!" She shoved herself to her feet, her hand coming up to shade her eyes as she scanned the vibrant stream
overhead. Like a river pouring into the ocean, the freed
souls were separating, floating to and fro, some purposefully, others more uncertain. Several oriented themselves
quickly, darting into the distance, others drifted away
more slowly. Artemis searched, desperately, for the one
soul that belonged to her son.

And then he was there, swooping low. "Zander!"

"Hello, Mommy!"

He grinned, showing his new front teeth. Then his
ethereal form executed a back flip.

She laughed. Gods, had anything ever felt as wonderful
as this moment? "Come closer."

"No, Mommy, I can't." He glanced behind him. "I have to
go. I feel it calling."