City Infernal (22 page)
Authors: Edward Lee
“Fuckin’ men—in either world they’re supreme pains in the ass.”
“Why don’t you—”
“Make the first move?” Via kept finishing Cassie’s questions. “He’d just think I was a tramp if I did that. And, no, I’ve never told him that I love him. That’d just drive him away. Isn’t that how it always works?” She sputtered to herself. “He’s actually right, though. He doesn’t want to have a relationship with me because he knows what everybody here knows. Relationships never work out in Hell. I wish I could be as strong and as smart as him.”
Cassie felt bad for her. She could easily tell that Via’s genuine feminine feelings were seeping through the harsh, tom-boy veneer. Another thing that seeped through was just as plain: in spite of Xeke’s street-smarts and combative prowess, Via was truly worried about him.
A long fence topped with rolls of razor wire lined one side of the block. Demon sentries marched guard posts along the interior perimeter. Beyond the fence, Cassie could see long rows of dark concrete buildings.
“This almost looks like a military compound,” she said. “What’s it doing in an entertainment district?”
“Every district has at least one government facility,” Via replied, walking along. “That’s a Supernatural Services Installation. Lucifer can’t live in the Living World, so he takes any opportunity to mess with it.”
Cassie squinted at bizarre stenciled signs:
AUTOMATIC-WRITING BARRACKSSEANCE PROJECTIONCHANNELING POST
“Seances, channeling?” Cassie questioned. “Doesn’t all that have to do with communication with the dead?”
“Sure does. And it’s all fake.”
“What?”
“It’s all bullshit for gullible minds in the Living World,” Via said. “It’s all an instigation of Lucifer’s sorcery technologies. Ouija boards, phone calls from your dead relatives, trance-channelers who think they’re writing notes from Edgar Cayce, stuff like that. It’s all fake. It’s all manufactured here. When people fool around with Ouija boards and become convinced that they’re in contact with their dead Uncle Harry, it’s really just a Necromancer on this end, manipulating the board so it seems real. Remember that guy who claimed that Mozart was contacting him to finish his last symphony? They even compared the hand-writing to letters and sheet music that Mozart wrote himself, and it matched. But it was really just a technician in the Automatic-Writing Barracks, forging it all and channeling it to this moron.”
Cassie was astonished by the information. “That’s fascinating.” Another sign loomed by:
N.D.E. GENERATORS
“N.D.E. stands for Near Death Experience,” Via went on. “I’m sure you’ve read about the stuff. All these people who get brought back to life in emergency rooms, or drown and get revived by CPR—and they all say that they saw a great white light and their dead relatives are all waiting for them in paradise afterlife?”
Cassie was well familiar with the stories.
“It’s all manufactured bullshit. Imagery Spells are projected to the people who get revived, and since the imagery is all the same, their stories sound credible. Doesn’t matter if they’re good people or bad, Christians or Jews or Muslims or Atheists. The experience is the same so it suggests that there’s this wonderful non-Bible-oriented place of perfect peace waiting for us when we die. But it’s really all just a trick. Same thing with alien abductions—Jesus. Imagery Spells are randomly projected to people in the Living World; the images make them think they’ve been kidnaped by aliens. If you get people to believe in aliens—”
“They won’t believe in God,” Cassie got it. “And if people think aliens are real and God is a myth ... they reject the notion of salvation.”
“And their asses land right here the minute they die.”
They passed the creepy compound, Cassie’s fascination brimming. Lucifer’s schemes were intricate and brilliant. She wondered how many millions had been deceived by him.
Suddenly Hush was pulling Cassie along harder by the hand; she seemed giddy with excitement.
“Hush loves to window-shop,” Via said.
Here, odd store fronts lined the sulphur-lit street. EVITA’S SECRET, one window read. Behind the glass, hellish skeletons served as mannequins, displaying the latest lacy fashions. INFERNAL CONCUBINE? PROSTITUTE? OR JUST AN UPTOWN GIRL? LOOK YOUR SEXIEST IN OUR NEW COFFIN-WORM-SILK NIGHTIES!
The next store read CROWN OF THORNS BOOKS, whose window display showed an array of books, The
Glyphs of She, Cultes Des Ghoules, Megalopisomancy, The Gospel According to Judas.
Another sign blared, DONT MISS OUR NEXT SIGNING! CAPOTE AND LOVECRAFT AUTOGRAPH THEIR LATEST RELEASES,
PORTRAIT OF THE WRITER IN HELL
AND
THE SHADOW OVER PROSPECT STREET.
Between the next two shops a midget Gremlin tended to a tuxedo’d demon as might a shoe-shine boy: the demon was having his horns sharpened. Another Gremlin sold smoking nuts of some kind from a wheeled stand. Cassie doubted they were chestnuts.
Glyphs of She, Cultes Des Ghoules, Megalopisomancy, The Gospel According to Judas.
Another sign blared, DONT MISS OUR NEXT SIGNING! CAPOTE AND LOVECRAFT AUTOGRAPH THEIR LATEST RELEASES,
PORTRAIT OF THE WRITER IN HELL
AND
THE SHADOW OVER PROSPECT STREET.
Between the next two shops a midget Gremlin tended to a tuxedo’d demon as might a shoe-shine boy: the demon was having his horns sharpened. Another Gremlin sold smoking nuts of some kind from a wheeled stand. Cassie doubted they were chestnuts.
Big-screen televisions were displayed in the next shop, with strangely oval screens.
Sony they ain’t,
Cassie thought. The grainy screens flickered in washed-out color. One screen showed what appeared to be a bikini contest, with demonic contestants. A game show flickered on the next. “And what’s behind Door Number Three?” a handsome human host with hook hands announced. The door raised, revealing a torture chamber, complete with squirming bodies shackled to racks and quivering in spiked iron maidens. Yet another screen showed an arena with packed grandstands. On the field, huge birdlike demons ripped strips of flesh off naked humans. The crowd roared with applause.
Sony they ain’t,
Cassie thought. The grainy screens flickered in washed-out color. One screen showed what appeared to be a bikini contest, with demonic contestants. A game show flickered on the next. “And what’s behind Door Number Three?” a handsome human host with hook hands announced. The door raised, revealing a torture chamber, complete with squirming bodies shackled to racks and quivering in spiked iron maidens. Yet another screen showed an arena with packed grandstands. On the field, huge birdlike demons ripped strips of flesh off naked humans. The crowd roared with applause.
I guess football doesn’t make it here....
Next, Hush was beaming at a shop whose transom read TRANSPLANT PARLOR (AN AUTHORIZED COMMERCIAL ANNEX OF THE OFFICE OF TRANSFIGURATION). It reminded Cassie of a realtor’s, where an audio tape was triggered by a motion detector when browsers walked by. An energetic voice announced: “Don’t trust your body modifications to an unlicensed surgeon. Come in and meet one of our government-approved Transfigurists for all your transplant needs. Get rid of those insufficient human arms and let our doctors give you a pair of powerful Troll arms. Get revitalized with a demonic transfusion. If it’s Nether-Wolf fangs you want, we’ve got them. And don’t forget about our easy low-interest payment plan.”
“Capitalism at its finest,” Via said. “Things actually aren’t that different. If you’ve got money, you’ve got privilege. Hierarchals enjoy an eternity of luxury, on the backs of the poor. Just like the Living World. See? Even the government’s in on it.”
“Hush seems very interested in this place.” Cassie noted her friend’s longing eyes.
Then Via explained, “Hush can’t talk because the Constabs caught her stealing a piece of Ghoul Sausage from a vendor. They cut out her voice box as punishment.”
The answer seemed simple to Cassie. “Well, by the looks of things, we can buy her a new one.”
“Ain’t gonna happen. It’s a government annex,” Via explained. “To get services, you have to register. Me, Xeke, and Hush are XR’s—we’re fugitives. You have to prove residency for any government service.”
Damn.
It distressed Cassie when she considered the predicament. Hush would spend eternity wanting something she could never have.
It distressed Cassie when she considered the predicament. Hush would spend eternity wanting something she could never have.
“Here’s another Annex,” Via pointed out when they crossed the next block. The elaborate neon sign read: SUCCUBIC SERVICE CENTER! RENTALS, LEASES! AN AUTHORIZED SUBSIDIARY OF THE LILITH SUBCARNATION CONSERVATORY.
“The Conservatory is another government project,” Via said, “but this annex rents succubi and incubi to all the downtown strip joints and escort services. Lilith herself is the Conservatory’s CEO—Lucifer’s had a thing for her for eons; she bore Adam’s children after Eve left him, and the children were half-bred sexual demons. At the Conservatory, she uses Conversion Spells to turn humans into succubi, to subcamate them into the Living World where they haunt men’s dreams. just like the legend.”
By now it was occurring to Cassie that many myths, legends, and occult lore must actually be true. Behind the glass, several naked “samples” sashayed back and forth in a plush parlor. Glowing yellow eyes glinted back at her. The women had flawless physiques, every aspect of female desirability accentuated to supernatural perfection. They were bald, however, and bereft of any body hair, and their poreless skin shined as if shellacked, not flesh-toned but a rich, exotic violet.
“And you say they rent them out?” Cassie qualified.
“To titty bars, live-sex shows, massage parlors and whorehouses.” Via
chuckled
sardonically. “Sounds a lot like L.A.”
chuckled
sardonically. “Sounds a lot like L.A.”
They continued on down the maze of dark streets. Via hadn’t been kidding earlier, when she’d said they’d be going to the seedier parts of the district. Wan prostitutes enticed customers from bordello windows; some were human, some succubi, and some crossbred demons. Peep show parlors flashed like Las Vegas casinos, promising live sex shows, private booths, and the latest pornography. Beneath a garish yellow sign that read JACK RUBY’S ROMP-HOUSE, an eager Imp barked at them: “Step right in, ladies! Dancers wanted! Jack’ll take your applications
personally!”
personally!”
“No, thanks,” Via smirked.
DEAD PORNSTAR LAP DANCES! boasted another sign, and then another, CRIPPENDALES! FOR LADIES ONLY! GET A PRIVATE DANCE (AND MORE!) FROM JOHNNY THE C-MAN HIMSELF!
Lastly, the Onan Theater sported a flashing marquee: “HELL-TRAMP 666” STARRING CATHERINE THE GREAT! PLUS EVA BRAUN IN ”GARGOYLE ORGY A-GO-GO!”
Cassie grew weary of the parade of smut. So much revolved around sex, just like in her world. Hush seemed to sense her impatience, pointing to the next block.
“The S&N Club is right over there,” Via said. “In Herod’s Alley.”
But when they crossed the street, Via slowed. A Golem was hulking down the street, stopping at each street lamp and sign post. The huge, clay-bodied thing seemed to be attaching sheets of paper to each post.
“What’s he doing?” Cassie asked.
Via didn’t answer; instead she trotted to the first street sign. “Shit, I should’ve known,” she muttered.
Cassie looked at the paper that the Golem had fixed to the post.
It’s a Wanted poster,
she realized when she read it..
It’s a Wanted poster,
she realized when she read it..
POSTED BY ORDER OF THE AGENCY OF THE CONSTABULARY (BONIFACE DISTRICT) WANTED FOR THE MURDER OF 16 MUTILATION OFFICERS
REWARD
OF 1000 HELL-NOTES FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THIS CRIMINAL’S ARREST
And below that was a picture of Xeke. Via was laughing softly. “How do you like that? He killed sixteen of them and got away.”
“Yeah,” Cassie remarked, “but now they’ve got a bulletin out for him.”
“At least he’s still alive. We can only hope he’ll make it to the club.”
Cassie saw her point. Xeke being wanted by the police meant he was still out there somewhere.
So long as they were looking for him, he was still alive.
“Let’s get going,” Via urged and led on.
When they arrived at the alley’s entrance, Cassie noticed an endless line of rundown buildings pressed together. It reminded her of the Goth block in D.C.: black-painted brick-fronts and bouncers standing with their arms crossed in front of battered propped-open doors, but these bouncers were either deformed or demonic. Low bassy notes and a familiar voice eddied from one door: “Since my spirit left me, I’ve found a new place to dwell. I drugged out and croaked on a toilet seat and—went straight to Hell.”
Cassie paused.
No, it ... couldn’t be!
No, it ... couldn’t be!
Or could it?
Before another club, a severed head on a stick talked to them. “Hey, girls! No cover! Robert Johnson and Grieg are JAMMING!”
NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS! HERE’S THE S&N CLUB! a sign down the way alerted them.
Finally,
Cassie thought.
Finally,
Cassie thought.
“Crap!” Via exclaimed. “We can’t get in! I just remembered that Xeke has all the cash!”
“And there’s no sign of him,” Cassie observed around the entrance. “If he was here, he’d be waiting outside for us, wouldn’t he?”
“Yeah.
Damn
it!” Via looked down at stained pavement, scuffed a boot. Cassie could imagine what she was considering: that Xeke wasn’t coming, because. Xeke was being apprehended by the Mutilation Squad right this instant.
Damn
it!” Via looked down at stained pavement, scuffed a boot. Cassie could imagine what she was considering: that Xeke wasn’t coming, because. Xeke was being apprehended by the Mutilation Squad right this instant.
“He’ll be here,” Cassie tried to sound hopeful. “He’s probably just hiding out for a while, until the Constabs leave.”
Via just nodded. Then she asked the weirdest question: “How long are your fingernails?”
“Huh?”
“It’s the only thing I can think of that can get us in the door. We can’t trade our train passes, in case...”
Via gulped at the reality. “In case Xeke never shows up.”
Cassie looked at her long black-lacquered nails, then hesitantly showed them to Via.
“Those are great. Bite one off.”
Cassie winced at the thought but when Hush made the universal gesture—rubbing her thumbs against her first two fingers—Cassie knew that the fingernail from an Etheress would serve as money. Less than delicately, she bit the nail off her pinkie, gave it to Via.
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