Angel's Curse (24 page)

I want you to know that it’s okay to move on and make a new life. You have my blessing, no matter what path you choose. I only hope there will be a small place in your heart that remains mine, and that you can one day look on the time we had together with gladness rather than sorrow.

My love is eternal,

Danny

I didn’t think Danny had the wild debauchery I’d indulged in with Drake in mind when he told me to move on and make a new life. He’d probably be just as disgusted with me as I was. No, that was wrong. Danny was a very forgiving soul. He would forgive me even when I loathed myself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

If Danny wanted me to get on with my life and move on he had to stop doing these things, had to stop tearing open the wounds and ripping out my heart.

Not that it matters,
I thought.
I’m going to get the blood I need and finish off what I started, then I’m done. To hell with everything!

19.
Gone to Hell

So how does one go to hell? It’s not like I could catch the five-oh-five bus and go all the way to the last stop. How
did
people ascend to heaven, or descend to hell?

They die, you idiot!
The voice said.

Not an option,
yet.
I might end up in the wrong place. How did demons get there? Surely they could come and go as they pleased, or as their master wished. Did they have some special pass or secret handshake, or was
being
a demon enough? If the latter was true, couldn’t
I
be a demon? Demon blood, demon scent and demon genetic code — I had it all. Why not? Why shouldn’t it work?

Should I go casual or formal? What was the appropriate attire to wear to meet the prince of darkness?

Go casual,
I thought to myself.
Don’t make him think you made an effort on his behalf. Don’t give him anything he might be able to twist to his advantage. He’s got to be one smooth talker if he convinced so many angels to follow him. Evil has a silver tongue!

I summoned the leather roll the daggers had been kept in and wrapped them up again, stuffing the roll inside the waistband of my jeans. Death I strapped to my thigh, and Danny’s feather —
never leave home without it
— I strapped to the bare skin of my upper arm, before dressing in a loose fitting top. It was the usual gear I’d wear if I wanted to blend in.

I headed down to the front desk to let Peter know I might be gone for a day or so and not to worry.

“Hey, Peter,” I said, leaning across the desk.

“Helena, sometimes you choose the most unflattering clothes to wear,” Peter chided.

“I’m going on a bit of a pilgrimage,” I replied, somewhat miffed.

“A pilgrimage to where,” Peter asked, “the gutter?”

“No,” I said, offended, “that’s where I
came
from.”

Peter raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Oh?”

“I may not be back for a few days. I’m not entirely sure how to get to where I’m going, and if I do manage to get there, I’m uncertain if I can get back.”

“And where are you planning on going?” he asked.

I turned around to walk away, laughing. “Hell, Peter, I’m going straight to hell.”

If he said something I didn’t hear him. I was already thinking about how I was going to get there. I headed to the closest subway, hoping they’d have public facilities, and that at this time of day — just after the peak hour rush — they’d be empty.

I couldn’t believe it, I had to have a valid ticket just to go through and use the facilities. Talk about a rip off. It was a good thing I could produce one out of thin air. The barriers opened and let me through. I headed to the far side of the ticketed area to where the facilities were. They smelled unclean, as most public facilities do. Taps dripped, cisterns leaked and toilet paper was strewn on the floor.

Some people are pigs!

I pushed open each door to make sure no one was hiding. When I was satisfied the facilities were empty, I stood in front of a basin and placed one hand on either side of it. I looked into the mirror and focused on rearranging the genetic code sequences. I wanted to make my dominant scent match that of the demon whose blood I’d assimilated into my body.

When the change was complete the average mortal would never have known there was something different about me, but to an immortal — every immortal except me, I still couldn’t smell the difference — I was all demon, evil to the core.

“Last chance to change your mind,” the face in the mirror told me.

I shook my head.
No, it’s time to end it.

The face in the mirror may have been smiling, but it scared me. The eyes didn’t smile at all. They were empty, flat and dark — dead eyes were staring back at me.

I stood up straight, closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Take me to the mouth of hell.”

When I opened my eyes I was in a very hot and large subterranean area, easily the size of five football fields. At the opposite end I could see glass sliding doors, which I walked towards. I could’ve transported myself there, but I needed the time to remind myself what I was here for, and not to be scared. Whoever, or whatever was here would most likely be able to smell fear. They probably lived off the smell of fear.

The glass doors slid open and when I stepped through I was greeted by the coolness of an air-conditioned foyer, in direct contrast to the blistering heat in the subterranean area outside.

The two people at the front desk looked up for a moment, then lowered their heads and went back to whatever they were doing before I arrived.

This could have been the foyer for any number of office buildings in the city — the front desk for visitors to report to, and security guards milling about at another desk, closer to the bank of elevators at the rear of the building. The floor was polished black marble and a number of matching columns appeared to be supporting a mezzanine level.

It was glitzy and glamorous, not at all what I was expecting. Hell was meant to be hot and horrible. Not the sort of place you’d choose to go to, if you had a choice. This, well, this wasn’t
too
bad.

There was a directory on the wall, to the right of the elevators, with a security desk on the left. I walked purposefully to the directory, as if I had every right to be here, but just wasn’t entirely sure where to go.

—Tenant directory—

1st floor — Stock Exchange, Labour Party, Liberal Party

2nd floor — Militants’ Advisory Office, Anti-Christ Association

3rd floor — Whores of Babylon, Sodom & Gomorrah Support Group

4th floor — Sycophants United, Satan’s Sluts, Believers Rehabilitation Centre

5th floor — Cafeteria (fire demons please note this is a designated non-smoking area)

The following floors are restricted to demons only:

6th floor — Demon Dating Service (DDS)

7th floor — Demon Credit Union (DCU)

8th floor — Demon Blood Bank (DBB)

9th floor — Demon Education Centre (DEC)

10th floor — Angelic Possession Intensive Care Unit (APICU)

11th floor — Food: Urges, Cravings, Killers—Special Advisory Social Services (FUCKSASS)

12th floor — Board of Directors—Everything Violent Is Loved (EVIL)

13th floor — CEO—Everything Violent Is Loved (EVIL)

I was definitely in the right place, but thirteen floors didn’t seem like much, and where did all the torturing of souls take place … in the cafeteria? Smokers would find it hell, not being able to have a cigarette.

I headed towards the closest elevator. There was only a down button. I guess it stood to reason that you’d descend into the depths of hell rather than ascend. I pressed the down button and waited patiently. As the doors opened one of the security guards scurried over and prevented me from entering the elevator. For someone who was grossly obese — some of the buttons were missing from his shirt, exposing a very hairy belly, his pants were clearly a few sizes too small as he couldn’t do them up properly, and while I’m at it, let’s not forget the massive smelly sweat stains under his arms pits, and his gross breath — he sure was fast on his feet. He was so big I couldn’t manoeuvre past him before the doors closed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Down,” I said.

He grinned — black and rotten teeth, no wonder his breath stank — and snorted. “I know where you’re
going down.
”

He grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed me towards the floor, so my face was right in front of his crotch. Who the
fuck
did this guy think he was?

“If you don’t let go of my hair I’m going to have to hurt you,” I said, through gritted teeth.

He snorted again and unzipped his fly. He reached in with his hand. I knew what he was going to do. If the rest of him was this gross I’d hate to think what
that
looked like, or smelled like.

“Last chance to change your mind,” I warned.

As soon as he had his hand free of his pants — it wasn’t even a handful — I had Death in my hand and cut both his hand and the pathetic excuse for a dick off.

Stupid, stupid man!

He started screaming and yelling, but let go of me, which is what I wanted. I stood up. This was
no
place to draw attention to myself. I quickly slit his throat, to stop the noise, and jabbed at the down button again. Luckily the elevator was still there and I shoved fat-boy out of the way to step in. I pressed thirteen and the doors closed, just as the other security guard came to see what the commotion was about.

I was in one of those excruciatingly slow elevators, filled with really bad elevator music playing at an annoyingly loud level. Presumably
this
was a form of torture. It certainly felt like it to me. The elevator stopped at the third and fourth floors, and what could only be Whores of Babylon or Satan’s Sluts got in. It seemed like old times, hanging out with women whose trade was sex. At least I thought they were women. It was pretty hard to tell.

They got out at the fifth floor — the cafeteria level — and the smells that came from the general area were rancid and vile. It was a good thing I didn’t eat
food
anymore. I would’ve puked.

When at last I reached the thirteenth floor — if they had stairs I could’ve walked down them more quickly on my hands — and the doors slid open, I almost didn’t step out. There was another desk, behind which sat a young woman. She was chewing gum — or what appeared to be gum — and filing her claws, while talking to someone via a headset in a high-pitched voice that was not unlike fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. I cringed and my whole body shivered. This
was
torture all right!

“I’ve gotta go now, someone’s here. Yeah, I’ll talk to ya later.”

The receptionist put down her nail file, yet continued to chew. She had two pupils in each eye, surrounded by different coloured irises — blue and orange in the left, and red and brown in the right — which was quite freaky really.

“Can I help you?” she screeched.

I cringed again. She must have thought there was something wrong with me, as my mouth formed a grimace.

“Are you all right? Can I get you some water?”
Screech, screech.

“No, thank you, I don’t touch the stuff,” I replied.

“Suit yourself,”
screech.
“Now what can I do ya for?”
Screech, screech.

“I’d like to see the CEO, please.”

“Do you have an appointment?”
Screech.

“No.”

“Sorry,”
screech,
“you can’t see the CEO without an appointment.”
Screech, screech.

She picked up her nail file and started sharpening her claws again.

“I think I have something that belongs to him,” I said.

She put down the nail file and looked down her nose at me. What could I possibly have that might be of interest to her boss?

“Oh yeah?”
screech.
“And what might that be?”
Screech, screech.

I retrieved the roll from my waistband and opened it. She looked at the daggers without touching them and sniffed.

“I’ll buzz him and see if he’s interested in meeting ya,”
screech, screech,
“but I can’t make any promises. I ain’t seen those daggers in a
long
time. He might like to hear how you came by them.”
Screech.

“Thanks.”

She dialled a number and after a moment said —
screech, screech
— “Sorry to bother you, Mr S, but there’s a
lady
here with something that used to belong to you — a set of three daggers.”