Ransom For Hire - Appointment In Hell (4 page)

Romock looked around the room, saw the five demons dead or dying, including the fiery remains of Lan Protegux. Romock’s own body was torn up badly, leaking black slime and gore. “You bad man, Ransom,” the Imp said to him.

“Yes. I am a bad, bad man. And you do not want to play games with me anymore.” He leaned down, put his face in front of Romock’s, and bit off each of the words he said next. “Take. Me. To. My. Wife.”

The Imp growled at him. Black blood dribbled from the corner of its mouth.

Even though it meant getting the thing’s blood all over his hand, Ransom kept a tight grip on Romock’s neck as the Imp moved them through Hell again. This time they ended up on a street between highrise buildings. Every single building was a blasted out shell, empty, the windows broken and smashed, the roofs and walls collapsing, the very picture of decay and abandonment.

The street under his boots was paved with people.

Dead souls were lined up, one after the other, face down in the streets so that their backs and asses and bare legs were turned upward. They lay under Ransom’s feet and he had no choice but to walk across them, the flesh soft and yielding under his boots even if it wasn’t really still there. Ransom tried not to think about it.

“Where to, Imp?”

Romock pointed at one of the buildings. It looked the same as all the others to Ransom, blackened and broken and void of life. But it was where Romock pointed, so it was where they went.

Across the dead he walked, shutting his ears to their muffled groans of pain, and then through the empty doorway and into the bottom floor of the building. The space was open from wall to wall, one huge area. The inner walls and ceiling were crumbling, dropping debris everywhere.

Shadowy forms moved near the far end and Ransom stepped further inside slowly. He couldn’t make out what they were. But this was Hell. They couldn’t be anything pleasant.

“Where is she, Imp?”

“She down there,” Romock answered, raising a hand to point at the end where the dark silhouettes moved.

“Who else is here?”

Romock shrugged. It seemed to hurt him, pulling on the injuries to his body.

“A lot of help you are,” Ransom grumbled.

“You let me go then.”

“Not a chance.”

Carrying Romock, Ransom crouched low and moved forward. The things down there had either seen him already or they hadn’t. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to be careful. Being careful rarely got anybody dead.

Halfway across the floor, he got a better look at the creatures in the room with him. All big, all misshapen. Not demons. Trolls.

A gravelly voice laughed. “How’s it been, Ransom?”

Oh dear God, Ransom thought.

Yulwavi.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, big guy.” Ransom stopped trying to creep up on them and stood up tall. Too late for being careful now. He counted heads. Four Trolls. No Julia.

He squeezed Romock’s neck tighter. “Lied to me again, Imp.”

Romock tried to laugh but it turned into a choking gasp as Ransom cut off its air with a forceful squeeze.

“Didn’t expect you either, little Harbinger.” Yulwavi’s voice was stone grinding on more stone.

“You know, that’s twice today someone’s called me by that name. I hadn’t heard it in over a year before today.”

“You been out of the game, little Harbinger. Don’t mean you ain’t still what you is.”

The Troll’s booming voice was amused. He moved forward into the light more so Ransom could see him. Dark green skin covered in moles and bumps and scaly patches, rough leather clothing barely restraining his bulk, arms the size of small tree trunks. Just what Ransom remembered Yulwavi looking like in life. A low forehead disguised an intelligence that made Yulwavi even more dangerous than most of his kind.

Ransom sighed heavily. He hated Hell. “So how’s this going to go, Yulwavi?”

Yulwavi shrugged. “Going to pound you, Ransom. You put me here.”

“No, your life put you here. I just killed you.”

“That’s fair. You did that. And I lived my life. Just like my friends here.” The three other Trolls stepped up to stand beside Yulwavi. Even being smaller than Yulwavi the three of them were still massive blocks of flesh.

Ransom looked from one ugly Troll face to another. “Did I kill any of you?”

One of the Trolls raised a hand.

“I killed you?” Ransom asked him.

The Troll nodded his shaggy head.

“When?”

A look of pained concentration came over the Troll’s face and he lifted a hand to count on his fingers.

Ransom threw Romock at the Troll, and the Imp landed against his face with a wet splat of black blood. At the same time Ransom pulled out his knife and smoothly threw it at the first Troll on his left. His aim was true and it went through the Troll’s eye, into his tiny brain.

A Troll’s skin is incredibly thick. Ransom’s knife might have scratched one of them with a well placed cut, but it wouldn’t have been enough to bring death. Had the Troll moved just an inch as Ransom threw, the knife would have missed the eye, and the Troll would still be alive. But instead he fell now with a heavy thump to the floor, dead.

“Carish-lae-nok!” he yelled.

The knife pulled itself out of the Troll’s eye and flew back toward Ransom. He redirected it before it reached his hand and to fly through the air at the Troll to his far right. This Troll learned from his friend’s mistake and raised a hand to cover his eyes. Ransom’s knife barely stuck into the hand but Ransom knew it wasn’t enough to hurt the thing.

He spun away as the Troll rushed him, letting the huge creature barrel past. At the last moment he stuck his leg out and tripped the thing, causing the beast to pitch forward.

The Troll landed with his hand still in front of his eyes. The butt of the dagger slammed into the floor, pushing the sharp tip upward as the heavy head fell down. It was enough to force the dagger into this one’s eye too and, Ransom hoped, kill the Troll.

But now the dagger was stuck, out of Ransom’s reach even with his magics.

“And that is why you earned your name, little Harbinger,” Yulwavi growled.

Ransom turned. Yulwavi and the last Troll stood there side by side. Yulwavi’s friend had Romock dangling from one huge fist.

Ransom blew out a breath through the handkerchief tied around his face. “I don’t have time for this, Yulwavi. My wife is here in Hell, still alive. I need to get to her and get her out.”

Yulwavi knit his brows together. “Who did that to you, little Harbinger?”

Ransom shook his head. “Haven’t had time to figure it out yet. But they’re dead when I do.”

The Troll nodded his massive head once. “And will you be killing me too, little Harbinger?”

“Do I need to?” Ransom put on his best game face and stood his ground. He just had to hope the bluff would work. He’d almost died killing Yulwavi once. He wasn’t sure he’d survive doing it twice.

Yulwavi clenched and unclenched his thick hands. “No,” he said at last. “No, you don’t. Give him back his Imp, Blogereth. I don’t plan on dying again, if I can help it.”

The other Troll, Blogereth, tossed a limp Romock at Ransom’s feet. The little Imp squirmed and scratched at the floor of the building weakly, trying to dig itself away. Ransom grabbed its neck before it could get anywhere.

He stepped over to the Troll that had his knife buried under the face. He tried to roll the head gently but it wouldn’t budge. Ransom kept a wary eye on Yulwavi and his friend, expecting them to jump him at any time. “Clootho,” he whispered.

The Troll’s head cracked and split down the middle. Reaching into the mush that remained inside, Ransom plucked his knife out. He cleaned it on the dead-again Troll’s sleeve and slipped it back into his coat.

Backing his way out of the building Ransom tipped his fedora at Yulwavi. “I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

“Or you either, little Harbinger.”

The two trolls walked away into the shadows, leaving their dead companions where they lay.

Back outside of the building Ransom walked a good distance down the street of dead bodies before he stopped. Romock was clawing limply at his hand, trying to get enough release to breathe again.

Ransom took a hard grip on the Imp’s left arm and twisted it backward. The bones in Romock’s arm snapped loudly. Ransom twisted it around a full rotation and with a hard pull tore it off the Imp’s body.

The only thing keeping Romock from screaming was how hard Ransom’s hand was fisted around the creature’s neck, preventing it from drawing air.

Black goo poured from the hole that had once been Romock’s shoulder. Ransom took a good grip and beat Romock over the head with its own arm.

“I am done playing games with you! You will bring me to my wife now, or the next thing I pull off your body will be your head! I will pull you into pieces and bury each one in a separate corner of Hell if you do that again! Satan’s own hellhounds won’t be able to find all of you! DO YOU HEAR ME?”

The Imp’s eyes bulged. Its one remaining arm pinwheeled wildly. Its purple tongue poked out of its mouth as it tried to gag, to breathe, to make any sound at all.

And then they were standing in a room.

Romock had brought them to a room in the space of time between breaths. Just a simple room. The walls were white, the floor and ceiling were white, the table in the middle of the room was white, the chairs around the table were white.

“Well, not what I expected,” Ransom murmured. With a hard look at what was left of his Imp, he loosened his grip enough for the thing to pull in a ragged breath, then another, then another.

The Imp finally glared at Ransom and pointed its one shaky hand. “There. Wife…is there.”

Ransom looked across the room and saw a gate of white glass bars set into the wall. He rushed around the table and looked through the spaces.

Julia lay there on the white floor.

“Julia!” Ransom called to her, reaching a hand through the bars. He couldn’t quite reach her. “Julia!”

She didn’t stir.

She lay naked, her back to him, the perfect curve of her back and her long legs about all he could see. Her long dark hair hid her face from him. He couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.

He could feel the fire rise in his blood. The heat of his anger had finally caught up to him. The chill in his voice should have sucked the life from Romock the Imp. “If she’s dead, here in Hell, you little bastard, I will take it out on your hide.”

Romock drew saliva into its mouth and spit. It was a feeble effort, and it landed on Ransom’s coat. “She not dead, hateful human trespasser. She still alive.”

“Then why isn’t she answering me?” Ransom yelled, banging on the bars.

A new voice answered him.

“She is well, Jack Ransom. Calm yourself.”

The voice was silky smooth, oily even, but in a sickly sweet way. Ransom had only heard it once before. Once was enough.

Very few people ever heard that voice twice in their living days.

Satan.

Ransom let go of Romock. The Imp fell to the floor, smearing black, oily blood across the sterling whiteness as it crawled away on its one arm.

He turned around, slowly. Satan was sitting, lounging comfortably, in one of the two chairs at the table.

“Please,” Satan said, gesturing with a manicured hand. “Join me. It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to host anyone.”

Satan was dressed in a perfectly fitted suit as white as the room around him. His white tie was knotted just so and left a little loose at his neck. His red skin and black hair were a bold contrast to the lack of color everywhere else in the room. But there were no horns, no forked tail. If not for the color of his skin, anyone else seeing him might have mistaken him for a successful businessman or rich playboy.

Anyone else, that is, except for Jack Ransom.

Ransom knew the Devil didn’t actually look like this. Knew that the great Deceiver was choosing, in this moment, to appear in this more classic guise. Satan could have picked most any form. That’s what he had done the last time he and Ransom had met.

Ransom still had nightmares.

When the Devil asks you to take a seat with him, you have two choices. Ransom had already survived a fight with five of Hell’s demons, and killed two Trolls. He figured he’d used up all of his luck for one day. Saying no to Satan wasn’t something he was willing to chance.

He sat down on the opposite side of the table from Satan, keeping his eyes on the fallen Angel the whole time. “Been a long time, Nick.”

The Devil laughed. “Nobody calls me that anymore. I actually kind of miss it. So, Ransom, what brings you trespassing into my place of business?”

Ransom’s throat was suddenly dry. But he was able to take off the handkerchief, finally. His clothes and skin had a thin layer of ash over them from walking around in Hell, but here, in this room, the air was clean and clear. “I think you know why I’m here,” he said. “And I don’t mean to trespass. But someone I care about was brought here against her will and before her time. I aim to get her back.”

Satan shook his head. “She’s in my territory, therefore she’s mine.”

“She’s not supposed to be here. It isn’t right.”

“And I care about what’s right?” Satan asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“You—”

Romock jumped up behind Ransom, trailing bits of himself in tattered strips, holding his own severed arm up and swinging it down at Ransom’s head like a club.

Satan blurred past Ransom and caught the Imp by a leg and pulled it past Ransom’s ear and was sitting back down and holding Romock up in the air before Ransom could even blink.

“Now, Romock, what happened to you?” Satan spoke in a bored voice as he looked the Imp over, looking closely at the ragged tears through its stomach and chest, at the torn arm, at the blood that coated the blue skin, and at all the other injuries. Then he looked back at Ransom and smiled. “You did all this?”

Ransom shook his head. “You had a demon named Lan Protegux. He and his friends did a lot of it.”

“Had? I had a demon named Lan Protegux?”

“Yeah, well, he was asking me to kill you and I had to tell him no. He tried to kill me instead when I did.”