The Demonata #10: Hell's Heroes (7 page)

I look through my old clothes and CDs, remembering a time when such things were important. I go to the toilet and think about Reni Gossel, Loch’s sister, as I’m washing my hands. We would have become an item if the world hadn’t spun off its rails. Maybe I should look her up, kiss her farewell, tell her something corny, like I’ll always hold her dear to my heart.

Then I catch sight of my twisted face in the mirror, the fangs, the bloodshot eyes, the tufts of coarse hair, the way one ear sticks out about two inches higher than the other. Some boyfriend I’d make in this state! Best to give Reni a wide berth. I’d terrify her if she saw me like this, and I didn’t come back to freak out my ex-girlfriend.

Why
did
you come?
the Kah-Gash asks. The voice of the ancient weapon usually speaks to me only when the situation is dire. But its curiosity has been aroused.

“To say goodbye,” I tell it. “I want to see the old place one last time. Kirilli was right—houses are like people. I want to let the mansion know how much it meant to me.”

Very peculiar,
the Kah-Gash says drily.
I thought you had put such quaint human ways behind you forever.

“I thought so too,” I mutter, then wink at myself in the mirror. “But I’m glad that I haven’t.”

I head for the ground floor. The others are drinking in the kitchen, Kernel and Kirilli from glasses, Curly and Moe from bowls. I tell them I’ll be a few more minutes, then steel myself and open the door to the cellar.

Dervish’s wine collection—his pride and joy—is a mess. Lots of the racks have been knocked over, and hundreds of bottles lie smashed on the ground, their contents spilled. I was never bothered about wine, but I feel sad viewing the destruction, knowing how rare some of the bottles were and how much they meant to my uncle.

Stepping carefully through the wreckage, I open the secret panel that nestles behind a fake wine rack. I trudge down a long tunnel to the house’s second, secret cellar. This was where Dervish cast his more dangerous spells and communed with Lord Loss.

There’s magic in this room. I never asked Dervish where it came from. Maybe it has something to do with the lodestone buried in the cave not far from here.

I use my power to light the candles dotting the walls. The room flickers into view, and my eyes are drawn to the remains of a steel cage. We kept Bill-E in it when he was turning. I was a prisoner there too for a while. Hard to believe such puny bars could ever have held the likes of me. But I wasn’t a monster in those days.

I wander around the cellar, looking at the books, the scraps of burned paper, the chess pieces left over from when we challenged Lord Loss. I never liked this room, but it doesn’t scare me as it once did. Nothing really scares me now. Except the thought of Bec collaborating with the demons, or me destroying the universe. Heh!

A book among the debris catches my attention. There’s a picture of Lord Loss on the cover. I pick it up and study the demon master. My lips curl. Of all the monsters, this is the one I hate most. I’d give anything to look in his eyes and laugh as I throttled the life out of him. I’d maybe even accept defeat in the war if I could settle the score with this lowly one first.

As I’m thinking about Lord Loss, the picture moves. His eyes come into focus and he leers. “Grubitsch…” he whispers. “Come to me… Grubitsch…”

“In my own good time,” I growl.

The face presses out of the page like a 3-D image. “Give yourself… to me. Let me end… it all now. No more pain. No more sorrow. No more—”

“—of your bull,” I snort, then roar at the book. Lord Loss’s face wrinkles, then flattens. Seconds later it’s just a picture, and his voice is gone. I toss the book aside. “That’s enough nostalgic crap,” I huff, and head back to the house, all my goodbyes completed, ready for business.

W
E
walk to the cave, leaving the pilot and the helicopter at the house. I know this forest so well, even having been away so long, that I could go through it with my eyes closed and never stumble. I savor the familiar sights and smells, taking it all in. I sense things kicking into high gear. This could be my last quiet night for a long time, maybe ever.

When we reach the place where the cave is, there’s no sign of an entrance.

“What’s happening?” Kernel asks, sniffing the air uneasily.

“The hole’s been filled,” I tell him.

“Then we’ve nothing to worry about,” he says. “They can’t do anything with the lodestone unless they can access the cave from this side.”

“I’m not taking any chances.” I grab Kernel’s hand and squeeze hard. As he yelps, I use the power of the Kah-Gash to unite with him. Our potential skyrockets, and I draw energy from everything around us, and from the reservoir of magic beneath our feet.

With my free hand, I point at the spot where the hole used to be and bark a command. Rocks and dirt—along with lots of insects and a few startled rabbits—fly into the air in a funnel and arc over our heads.

Kernel trembles when I release him. “How did you do that?” he croaks. “You took power from me without my permission.”

“I’m the trigger,” I remind him. “The guy who fires the Kah-Gash into life. I don’t need permission.”

“So you can steal from me whenever you like,” Kernel snarls, relations between us deteriorating as swiftly as they’d started to improve.

“Don’t have a heart attack,” I mutter, then scramble down the hole into the gloom of the subterranean world.

Kirilli helps Kernel as we climb down a steep wall. Moe and Curly flank them, growling softly, wary of this underground den. I’d be happy to descend in the dark, but Kirilli creates a ball of light. “There,” he beams. “That’s much better.”

As he says that, his prosthetic foot slips and he drops. A yell escapes his lips, and his eyes widen with alarm. But before he can plummet to his death, Moe grabs his left arm. The werewolf braces himself and clings to the wall as Kirilli jolts about. Once the startled magician has regained his wits—along with his grip—Moe lets go.

“He saved my life,” Kirilli gasps, looking like he’s about to be sick. “These beasts are becoming more human every day.”

“Don’t bet on it,” I grunt. “He only kept you alive in case he gets hungry later.”

Kirilli chuckles weakly. “You’re joking, right, Grubbs?” I carry on climbing down.
“Grubbs?”

The cave hasn’t changed since the night Bill-E died. I can still appreciate its spectacular beauty, the amazing array of stalagmites and stalactites, the unusual formations, the waterfall cascading from one of the walls. That surprises me. After everything that happened, and all the wonders I’ve seen in the demon universe, I thought I’d be immune to the charms of the cave. But it thrills me almost as much now as when I first discovered it with Bill-E and Loch.

“Impressive,” Kirilli murmurs, strolling through the fields of stalagmites. “I did a bit of spelunking in my younger days. This is a splendid fissure. I’m sure it’s the start of a chain of caves. If I had the proper equipment, I’d love to explore fully.”

“We’re not here to map cave systems,” I growl, marching over to the waterfall. I squint at the wall around it. There’s a thin crack that was once much larger. That was where the tunnel would have opened if the demons had been successful.

“Kernel,” I call. He approaches warily, guided by Kirilli. I gouged out his eyes in a cave. I’m sure he’s thinking about that now, wondering if I plan to slice off any more body parts. “I want to link up with you again. Do I have your
permission
?”

“You’d do it even if I refused,” Kernel sneers, but sticks out a hand.

Using the Kah-Gash, I power up, then roar at the cave wall, the same way that I roared at the picture of Lord Loss in the cellar. The rock quivers, like it would in an earthquake. The crack splits further, widening until it’s a six-foot-high chasm. I let the roar die away, and the wall stops shaking, but the gap remains.

“Do you think this might be part of Bec’s plan?” Kernel asks as I step forward. I freeze and glance back. He’s smiling angelically. This isn’t something he just thought of. He’s been saving it to hit me with at the most distracting moment.

“What are you talking about?” I snap.

“Maybe she orchestrated the dream,” he says sweetly. “For all we know, the other lodestones might not be suitable. Maybe they can only manipulate this one, and she needed you to clear the way.”

I stare hatefully at the bald teenager. Right now, I’m glad I popped his eyes. I just wish I’d ripped his tongue out too.

“I guarantee one thing,” I say stiffly. “If they attack, and I think all is lost, I’ll toss you to my werewolves before I die.”

Kernel laughs, then sticks out his hand again. “Lead on, sweet prince.”

“Get stuffed,” I spit, leaving him for Kirilli. Tensing, I crouch, then jump and grab hold of the bottom of the crack. Dragging myself up, I peer into the darkness. I can’t see or hear anything, but Kernel’s warning has unsettled me, and I stand guard as the others climb, not wanting to venture farther without backup.

When we’re all gathered in the mouth of the tunnel, we advance. It’s hotter than the cave, and even though it’s wide enough for a couple to walk side by side, I keep imagining the walls grinding shut, pulping us to mincemeat. Kirilli and Kernel are nervous too, while Moe and Curly whine unhappily as they trudge along reluctantly.

Eventually the tunnel opens out into another cave. There’s a lake of calm, clear water covering most of the floor. In the center stands an island of bones, on top of which rests a large, jagged chunk of rock—the lodestone.

“I’m not a good swimmer,” Kirilli says uncertainly.

“I doubt if it’s deep,” I say, striding into the water. Even with my hairy legs, it feels cold.

“Should we undress?” Kirilli asks.

“Don’t bother.”

“But if we have to walk around all night in wet clothes…”

“You’re a mage,” I remind him. “You can dry them off once we get out.”

“Oh,” he says brightly. “I forget sometimes.” Chuckling, he leads Kernel into the lake. His chuckles turn to yelps when he feels the icy bite of the water, but he presses on. Curly and Moe start to follow. Then Moe splashes Curly. She yelps and splashes him back. Within moments they’re involved in a water fight, rolling around, wrestling and dunking each other, barking like a pair of puppies.

I reach the island and climb onto the mound of bones. A brittle skull cracks beneath my feet. I almost apologize, but there’s no point. The person this belonged to passed far beyond the need for apologies centuries before I was born.

Kernel and Kirilli climb out of the lake as I study the rock in the middle of the bones. It’s rectangular, rough around the edges. A skeleton is propped against it, kneeling, its skull resting on the top. I guess these are the remains of someone whose throat was slit over the rock—lodestones need blood to thrive.

“What’s it like?” Kernel asks.

“Nothing special. I’ve seen better in the local quarry.” I push the skeleton out of the way and rub my hands together. “Down to business. Beranabus simply broke the lodestone on the ship, right? No spells or magic required, just brute force?”

“This might be different,” Kernel says. “I think it’s a more powerful stone.”

“Only one way to find out.” I grab hold of the rock. I’m expecting a shock of energy to shoot through me, but although I can feel the buzz of Old magic in the stone, it doesn’t affect me. I let my fingers wander and find cracks and holds. Then I take a firm grip and strain, trying to snap the rock in two.