Hell's Pawn

  * * * * *

  J ohn stirred his drink with a thin cocktail straw and wondered why it smelled like cinnamon. He had asked for a hot tea, but what J ohn received was foamy with cream and resembled a la e. R immon had said something about chai as he brought it to the table. J ohn gave a cautious sip. I f anyone but the incubus had chosen it for him, J ohn would have sent it back.

  They sat together at a street side café, their table in view of the steam coach parked further down the alley. Dante had been glad for some downtime when they had gone to visit Asmoday, but he was supposed to take care of B olo. I nstead they found the dog tied to one of the coach wheels. B olo was happily watching the parade of people walking by, wagging his tail and occasionally getting petted for his efforts.

  Now B olo dozed under the table as they waited. They would only be able to reach their next destination with Dante’s help and were stranded until he reappeared, but J ohn was glad for the chance to think things over. Asmoday had known less than J ohn would have liked. The Archduke was only following instructions left by his predecessor, which wasn’t encouraging. J ohn couldn’t help feeling that they were all playing at soldiers without knowing the war, and that the generals had abandoned their troops to an unseen enemy.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Rimmon said.

  “Fine, but you’re ge ing a bargain. I don’t like that we’re following instructions purportedly left behind by L ucifer. That’s like finding a treasure map with a big black

  ‘X ’ on it. Way too convenient. S omeone was cunning enough to get the jump on the Devil, but they left his secret plans behind? I ’m starting to think they were placed there by whoever did the Devil in, which would mean we’re operating under the enemy’s instructions.”

  R immon smiled around the edge of his coffee cup until he had finished sipping. “I don’t think I’ve ever met such a suspicious mind,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I ’m just ge ing started. I f someone is strong enough to take down the most powerful gods of each pantheon, why stop there? They could have finished the job and taken down the smaller gods, if that’s what they wanted. Then there’s R a, who certainly appeared free to me. No, we’re still missing a piece of the puzzle, which means we don’t know if what we’re doing is right or not.”

  “I think it is,” R immon said without hesitation. “W hatever we’re up against had reason for wanting the realms separated and at each other’s throats. The glass man in the Norse realm only revealed himself when a truce became imminent. B ringing the pantheons together is the first step in the right direction. W hat we choose to do once we’re all together is another matter.”

  J ohn sighed. “I hope you’re right. W hoever is in charge of P urgatory probably wants to shape the rest of the afterlife in its image, and that frightens me. B eing dead should mean having more freedom than we had in life, but something out there wants to make us all prisoners.”

  R immon set his coffee down and considered J ohn carefully. “You’re an old soul, J ohn, but don’t let them sell you their fear. We won’t fall. Not as long as we’re together.”

  That “together” no doubt referred to the different pantheons rather than the two of them. W hich was a shame really, because he wouldn’t mind exploring that particular avenue. J ohn felt, and not for the first time, like asking R immon if he even stood a chance.

  “I know the question on your mind,” Rimmon said.

  John refused to blush, and for once the rest of him complied. “Do you?”

  “It’s the same thing you asked Dante.”

  Uh, no. Rimmon definitely didn’t know what John was thinking.

  “You want to know what it is that makes you special,” Rimmon continued.

  “Is there enough time in the day?” John quipped, earning him a smile.

  “I mean what Asmoday kept from you that first day in his office. Dante was telling you the truth when he said that it’s something good. I hope one day to tell you everything you deserve to know, but doing so means we will have to say goodbye.” John cocked an eyebrow. “And you aren’t ready for that?”

  “None of us are, but I believe what you said about freedom. You should choose for yourself. If you insist on knowing, I will tell you now, but please heed my warning.”

  “If you tell me, I won’t be able to see you again?”

  “Not for a very long time, I suspect.”

  “And Dante or Bolo?”

  The dog grumbled from beneath the table.

  Rimmon smiled. “I doubt there are many places Bolo couldn’t follow you.” And it was that smile that was terribly unfair, because not seeing it anymore was the price of learning the truth, and R immon had to know that J ohn wasn’t willing to pay.

  Wasn’t interest always obvious? E motions like these were always visible to the naked eye.

  “Dante’s back,” J ohn said, nodding at the steam coach. “And by the look of things, he’s very, very drunk.”

  J ohn wouldn’t have minded joining him. He was glad for the distraction. This way he wouldn’t have to tell R immon his choice, wouldn’t have to acknowledge that he was— W hat? I n love with the demon? J ohn knew so li le about R immon. He didn’t even understand what an incubus was. Not fully. He didn’t know if demons were born or somehow created, if they had families, went to school, or even experienced childhood. He didn’t know R immon’s past and barely knew any details of his present.

  Logically, John shouldn’t feel anything for him but friendship.

  E xcept that he had touched R immon’s heart, his essence, and had unequivocally known in that moment that R immon was good. That he was also handsome and intelligent had been obvious from their first encounter. E verything else was just details. L ove wasn’t blind, but it was very, very stupid, and J ohn was having an increasingly hard time ignoring its call. B ut he had an escape plan. I f his feelings ever became too much to bear, then he would ask R immon to tell him the truth, and they would be parted.

  “L et’s do this,” J ohn said, pushing away the bastardized tea and standing. “G e ing Dante to play dress-up will be easier while he’s drunk.” Dante had opened the coach door and was resting his upper body on one of the velvet cushions while the rest of him was still in the street. A series of miserable groans accompanied their efforts to get him upright again.

  “We have something for you, Dante,” R immon said as they leaned him against the side of the coach. “Something valuable.”

  “Goodies?” Dante asked.

  “O h, yes.” R immon took a long, thin box from his cloak and opened it. E ven in the limited light of the alleyway, the contents glimmered.

  “W hat’s that?” Dante asked, some sobriety returning to his interested eyes. I n the center of the box lay a necklace, its gold band wide and thick in order to support its six apple-sized jewels. To each side of this necklace were two smaller bracelets, each sporting one large gem.

  J ohn couldn’t say much for their style, but their worth must have been phenomenal. The jewelry had a presence of its own, as if it were a living being. This is what R immon had meant regarding true value in the afterlife. The resemblance of precious minerals meant nothing; it was their power and singularity that gave them worth. Asmoday’s eyes had been greedy and reluctant when he had handed them over, but he had no choice if they were to reach their next destination. These three pieces of jewelry were called the R egression R egalia, and their power was about to be demonstrated.

  “Take a look at these beauties,” R immon said to Dante. “There isn’t anything else like them in all of existence. Their value is incalculable. W ouldn’t you like to wear them?”

  “I’d rather pawn them, but whatever gets your rocks off,” Dante slurred.

  “You’d better help him,” John said after Dante made a clumsy swipe at the box.

  He watched as the demon adorned Dante with each piece, resisting the urge to crack a joke. No ma er how special the R egression R egalia might be, they were still tacky. Dante loo
ked like a child playing dress-up in grandma’s old costume jewelry.

  The innocent image was somewhat ruined when the Irishman passed out.

  “Do we need him awake to do this?” John asked.

  “It’s probably better if he isn’t. Are we ready?”

  J ohn hesitated. They hadn’t even explained to Dante what they were about to do.

  O n the other hand, there was a good chance that Dante wouldn’t have immediately understood. John hadn’t at first. He never had much faith in the idea of past lives since everyone turned out to be C leopatra, C aesar, or some other glorious historical figure, but according to Asmoday, reincarnation was real. Now J ohn had a chance to see proof.

  He reached for the bracelet on Dante’s right wrist, the one set with a gigantic diamond, rather than the bracelet with the dark stone. O nce touched, the diamond began to glow, sending a chain reaction across the jewels of the necklace. S oon Dante was invisible behind their bright light. W hen the light eventually faded, Dante had undergone a complete transformation. He now was in his late fifties, his red hair thin and his beer belly huge compared to his skinny arms and legs. He opened his eyes and glared up at them.

  “I s there a reason you two poofs are staring at me?” he said in a thick Australian accent.

  “Not particularly,” Rimmon said, reaching down to touch the diamond again.

  “I thought he was supposed to be C hinese?” J ohn said as the Australian man was lost to the light of the gems.

  “M ust be one life further back,” R immon said. “I sensed it while possessing him, but this is hardly a perfect science.”

  John sighed. This seemed a tremendous effort just to hitch a ride to the Taoist realm.

  Their normal method of using a redeemed soul wasn’t possible, since no viable candidates were available in Hell. R immon had suggested using the R egression R egalia to bring Dante back to a previous life, hopefully one with a connection to the realm they were trying to reach.

  The lights cleared a second time, revealing a small Asian woman with white hair fashioned into a bun. S he had lived a much longer life than either of her successors, and had likely died of old age. S hrewd eyes considered each of them before she stood up. When she spoke, she chose her words carefully.

  “You are not my ancestors.”

  The first impression was that she spoke E nglish with an impossibly thick accent, when in reality she was speaking her native J apanese. B ut language is universal in the afterlife, and J ohn could understand her perfectly. He did a mental double take.

  Japanese? He didn’t know the language, but he’d seen enough subtitled anime to differentiate it from Chinese.

  “She’s not—”

  “I know,” Rimmon said.

  “Maybe we need to go back another life?”

  The demon shook his head. “This is the one I sensed. W hat religion are you?” he asked the woman. “Shinto?”

  S he nodded briskly, her eyes darting down the alleyway in each direction. Was she thinking of running? J ohn changed his position, keeping her between him and the coach. Rimmon picked up on this too and moved closer to her.

  “All you need to do is hop in this seat and you’ll be reunited with your ancestors.” The woman’s eyes widened. S he took a tentative step backwards, but R immon matched her by stepping forward. He placed a hand on each arm, muscles flexing as he lifted her. “Allow me to help you,” he said politely, even as the woman began struggling and kicking. O nce in the driver’s seat, chains extended from the steam coach to hold her in place.

  “Nice seatbelt,” J ohn murmured as they took their seats inside the cabin. “I s it just me or is she not looking forward to going home again?”

  “We’ll soon find out why.”

  The coach lurched forward, accompanied by the usual indignant shouting as the denizens of Hell were knocked over in the street. B olo hung his head out the window and observed, barking in response to the loud insults.

  “W ill Dante remember any of this when we restore him?” J ohn asked. “For that matter, does she remember being Dante?”

  “I t’s hard to say. This sort of past life regression is almost unheard of. We don’t know what purpose the R egression R egalia was invented for or its origin. O ne story claims that a demon lord invented them for his own entertainment; another is your standard romantic tale of lovers chasing each other across time. The R egalia is truly unique. That Asmoday allowed us to borrow it is a strong sign of his desperation.” John nodded. They weren’t travelling to recruit other gods this time. They were after an army, one made of terraco a in fact. J ohn remembered seeing a documentary about it once. Q in S hi Huang, the First E mperor of C hina, had been buried with an army of more than eight thousand soldiers and a good number of chariots and horses, all made from clay. The idea was to give Q in his own army in the afterlife. P resumably it had worked because Asmoday was sending them to hire this army.

  O f course, now they were off track, guided by the J apanese religion of S hinto rather than Chinese Taoism.

  “We should be able to reach our intended destination,” R immon said, predicting John’s question. “At the very least this will get us nearer to where we need to be.” B olo moved away from the window to lay his head in J ohn’s lap. J ohn could see why the dog was bored with the view. Nothing was visible outside except darkness. He looked at Rimmon for answers, but the demon appeared just as perplexed.

  The coach stopped. W ith no reference point, they sensed this rather than felt it.

  R immon left the coach first, stepping down onto ground that could not be seen. J ohn followed, feeling vertigo from being suspended in a void.

  “Home,” the woman in the driver’s seat moaned. “Why did you bring me home?”

  “Fumiko!”

  The voices came from all around, booming in unison.

  “Fumiko, you have returned but you have not changed!”

  “They don’t sound happy,” J ohn whispered. “M aybe you be er get her unchained and turned back into Dante.”

  B ut the coach had already released the li le old woman, who hopped down and began to run.

  “You cannot escape from your ancestral home.”

  I n the darkness, shapes began to form. C abinets, couches, paper lanterns, and tidy wooden floors. These were monochrome at first, but colors soon flourished as reality solidified.

  “You were to reincarnate, F umiko, to learn from your mistakes. You are still a liar, a thief, instilling the confidence of strangers before taking from them!”

  “S o what?” Fumiko shook her fists at the air. “I ’m not ashamed of what I am! The people I stole from were too stupid to deserve their money. I f I hadn’t taken it, someone else would have!”

  “That’s Dante, all right,” John muttered.

  Faces began to form all around them. People of all ages were there, young and old, so many now that it was impossible to count.

  “You will return to E arth. You will live many lives until you are worthy of joining the family spirit.”

  “Amaterasu!” Fumiko cried. “Amaterasu! G oddess of the sun, I beseech you. Take me into hiding, take me away from these spirits that trouble me so. Hide me from my family as you once hid from yours!”

  “You will reincarnate!”

  The faces descended, moving for Fumiko, but a beam of sunlight cut through the room, surrounding the old woman in its glow. S he cackled victoriously as the light intensified, becoming so bright J ohn had to close his eyes. W hen the light disappeared, Fumiko was gone.

  “No,” J ohn breathed. “Wait! Wait you idiots, that was Dante! I t wasn’t Fumiko at all!” He ran forward, waving his arms for a ention, but the faces, the house, everything faded until nothing was left but the black void. They had lost Dante.

  Chapter Twelve

  The darkness was unforgiving and impenetrable. How vision was still possible was, like most of the afterlife, beyond reasoning. J ohn gripped one of the coach’s brass lanterns stubbornly
and scowled.

  “We can’t leave. If we do we’ll never see him again.”

  “S taying here serves no purpose,” R immon said. “We will find Dante, perhaps with the assistance of another god, but staying in place won’t bring him back. He’s Fumiko now, a woman who has no warmth for us and won’t willingly return to this place.”

  “There has to be something we can do!”

  “We can move on.” R immon snapped his fingers and the wheels of the coach began to turn, following the demon as he walked away.

  J ohn released the lamp and decided to protest by staying in place, B olo waiting loyally at his side. B ut as the coach began shrinking into the distance, they ran to catch up. Rimmon was decent enough not to act smug.

  “We’ll get him back,” he reassured John once more.

  As they walked, J ohn promised himself a hundred times that he would set things right with Dante. He would enlist the entire army he had raised if need be.

  “Neat trick,” he said eventually, nodding at the self-propelled coach wheels. “W hy didn’t you do that before?”

  “I was busy possessing Dante.”

  “Will it cause trouble here, you being out in plain sight?” R immon shook his head. “I ’m just another kami here, a spiritual being like any other. Ironic that the denizens of Hell are welcome here when there’s so little to see.”

  “It’s creepy. I could see a sort of house back there before it faded.” That wasn’t all. O bjects faded into existence before disappearing again, like icebergs in a fog-drenched sea. No rhyme or reason seemed to govern what would appear. An old stone well, a wooden cart, once even an acre of farmland appeared suddenly below their feet before vanishing again.

  “I ’m beginning to suspect existence here is more private than what we are used to,” R immon said. “As we saw with Fumiko, the souls here cluster together into an ancestral spirit. Not being a part of these families might mean we cannot see their homes, but I wonder if they can see us.”

  L ike ghosts, passing through the walls of their homes, J ohn thought as he watched B olo bounding along ahead of them. The dog had an amazing knack for knowing the direction they were headed in, which was more than J ohn could say for himself.