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Authors: Edward Lee

BOOK: City Infernal
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The detailed composite of her face looked exactly like Cassie, but as she stood next to the sign, passersby, be they human or demon, didn’t see her.
Even with this proof, though, she wanted more. She waltzed right up to a nine-foot Golem, jumped up in front of it, waving her hands before its dead clay face. The Golem merely stood there, looking on. She waved even more vigorously at a group of winged Conscripts flying down the street in a low-level formation.
No reaction. They just flew right by.
Through a steaming park riddled with vermin holes, an entire Mancer Squad marched in ranks, their standard mission clearly redirected for the search. Cassie ran up to the homed squad leader and marched alongside of him, sticking her tongue out right in front of his deformed face.
The squad leader didn’t see her, nor did any member of the squad.
She stopped and let them march by.
“Enough fooling around,” Via whispered. “The subway terminal’s right around the comer. Let’s get moving.”
It wasn’t a long wait; if anything, mass transit was far more efficient in Hell than it was in the nation’s capital. They hopped invisibly over the rusting turnstiles and then rushed into the first open car. Citizens of every variety stood grasping the overhead handles, completely oblivious that the city’s most wanted fugitives were on board with them.
Cassie was used to it now.
What a cool trick.
She contentedly baked in the heat, standing on top of Hush’s boots, as the infernal subway took them back to the outskirts of the city, and soon after that, they were back on the clattering train, chugging back across the noxious River Styx.
Heading back to the Living World.
Chapter Twelve
(I)
The darkling sighed.
She was called many things:
Lilû, Lilitu, the Goddess of Ardat, the Mother of Harlots and All Abominations of the Earth.
But her real name was Lilith.
Opportunities such as this were few and far between; for the first time in decades she breathed in earthly air. It intoxicated her, almost
too
rich a luxury compared to the familiar mephitis of her home. It gorged her, made her happy and light-headed.
The incarnation was nearly complete.
She could feel her own flesh now as the subcarnation continued to ferment. Unlike her succubic progeny, her skin was not violet—it was a fresh, blushing pink, like just-bloomed begonias, like the inside of a newborn baby’s cheek. Her sleek hands slid up, caressed her erect breasts, teased the darker, extruding nipples. She ran a long finger up the furrow of her sex, and hissed in bliss.
She was real in the world again, but she knew her precious time here would be all too short.
The female she’d been machinating sidled over and collapsed, leaving the male peon spread-eagled and perfectly still on the floor, his flesh white as a skinned tuber. Lilith hunched over, grinning in delight with beaming eyes.
She pressed her hand again to the peon’s chest, felt a few slow, feeble beats.
He was more dead now than alive—hence the incarnation’s finish—but any life at all, even an inkling, offended her.
Her hand pressed harder....
Yessssss
....
Harder.
Yessssss....
Harder.
Die....
The sodden heart beat one last time, then stopped, and at the same moment her mouth opened over his and she sucked out his last breath.
The taste of death was sweet, like warm honey.
She stood up in the dark and stretched serenely, her bosom jutting. The clock on the wall stared back at her with its proof that the conjuration had succeeded in full: it didn’t tick, its hands didn’t move.
She gazed out the window, drank up the vision of the star-lit night and the moon pregnant with its worldly yellow.
Thou art fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer!
Then the darkled seductress turned and slipped silently out of the room.
Her illumined eyes marveled at all she saw: the mansion’s foreboding furniture, portraits, and dark wall-coverings. On the stairs she saw a wraith, which paid her no mind because it
had
no mind.
Ghosts were just more of her Master’s wondrous props, and they served evil well. They’d been striking fear into the hearts of God’s paltry creatures for thousands of years.
But they weren’t real enough for Lilith’s liking.
The ghost—the former owner of this place—had served evil well too. Back in the Mephistopolis, his Spirit Body had been rewarded richly for his unspeakable deeds. Fenton Blackwell was a Grand Duke now, slaying mongrel offspring for eternity, while here, an incalculable distance away, his ghost remained.
It trudged hauntingly up and down the stairwell in its endless travail, dragging behind it the bundle of roped infants.
It was an imposing sight.
But Lilith wished for a real man—a living man—with whom she could quench her lust, someone to suck dry of all will and life-force and faith, a vessel of real flesh that she could drain like a goblet of sweet wine.
Too bad the dark house was empty.
But just as God was known to answer the prayers of His faithful, perhaps Satan could too. For only a moment later, the darkling’s black heart sung with joy. Just as she had determined that the brooding house was devoid of anything she could use for her pleasure—
Oh, what a wondrous
gift!
Another figure appeared on the stairs.
Not the ghost....
“Who the ...
hail ...
are—”
But he never even finished his query, having already succumbed to her potent gaze. He was slovenly and fat and stupid—but he was
real.
She could scent his crude, unsophisticated lust like a snake tasting the air with its forked tongue, and her voice was like crystal water rushing over stones in a brook when she looked up at him, said, “Come down here.”
(II)
“Whose
bones?” Cassie asked in alarm.
“Blackwell’s,” Via replied, slouched in the train seat. “You know, Fenton Blackwell, the guy who—”
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to tell me the story,” Cassie made the grueling recollection. The mansion’s previous owner. “He killed all those ... ,” but then she didn’t even want to think about it anymore.
“He sacrificed babies to Lucifer only minutes after they were born—dozens of them. He did it up in the oculus room at midnight. Service has its rewards—human sacrifice is the greatest homage that can be paid to the Devil. Blackwell was made a Grand Duke the second he descended into Hell.”
This made sense but it also confused Cassie. “But I thought he was a ghost, in my house.”
“A ghost is just a projection, like we told you.” Via seemed tired and bored. “It’s an image left over—part of the Deadpass. Blackwell’s ghost is soulless. It’s like a movie that switches on at certain times.”
“But Blackwell’s actual damned soul is in Hell now?”
“It sure is, partying hard somewhere. I heard he lives somewhere in Templar Cape; that’s where a lot of Grand Dukes live. It’s sort of like the midtown Manhattan of the Mephistopolis. Penthouse suites in luxury skyscrapers, every amenity. Those ugly fuckers live like kings—forever.”
Cassie wasn’t seeing the connection.
What’s this got to do with—
“And that’s why we need his bones. In Hell, bones from the Living World are of great value,” Via repeated what had already been explained. “But the bones of someone truly evil—like Blackwell—can be used as Power Relics.”
The Hand of Glory still provided them their invisibility, and they needn’t worry about their voices being heard because they shared a separate booth on the train. The bilge-filled River Styx behind them, Cassie glanced out the window at the red twilight and its thin black scythe of a moon hanging over the wastelands.
“Power Relics,” she muttered, back to the point.
“Not simply bones but very
powerful
bones,” Via said. “We can use them to rescue Lissa.”
Yes!
Cassie thought. “And Xeke.”
Via frowned. “I told you. That bit with Xeke on the television—it was all an act. He’s a traitor.”
Cassie was too confused to argue, but deep in her heart, she knew it couldn’t be true.
“End of the line,” Via said when a bell started ringing. The train’s speed began to slow over the clattering iron tracks, and then the conductor’s voice rattled: “Last stop, Tiberius Depot, Outer-Sector South. Thank you for using the Sheol Express.”
“Remember,” Via said, “no one can see us but they can still hear us.” She got up and held the severed hand forward. “No talking till we’re on the trail.”
Cassie and Hush followed her out. Filing off the train before them were two horned military demons in leather armor, leading a pair of naked humans—a man and a woman—who were preposterously obese. The humans were chained in leg irons, misery stamped on their bulbous faces. Hush seemed alarmed when she pointed further ahead. Getting off the train first were two hooded figures in long white cloaks....
Diviners,
Cassie thought.
Hush held a finger to her lips as they got off.
Via ushered them to a comer of the outdoor train platform, and when out of earshot, she whispered, “This could be trouble. Those two guys in the white hoods and cloaks are Extipicists from the Sacred College of Anthropomancy—Lucifer’s personal Diviners.”
“What are they doing here?” Cassie whispered back.
“Lucifer must’ve sent Extipicists to every exit point in the Outer Sectors. He’s not taking any chances; he’s calling every card.”
“Meaning?”
Hush awkwardly scribbled in her notepad:
they’re looking for us
they think we might be here, at this depot
Cassie’s stomach clenched.
“Let them all get off the platform,” Via whispered.
Several Trolls with suitcases hulked by and boarded the train. In the distance, the Extipicists and their crew left the station.
“Jesus,” Via whispered. “This sucks.”
“I don’t understand,” Cassie ineptly asked.
“The shit they do works. They’re gonna cast a divination, and when they do, they’ll know we’re here....”
“Should we get back on the train?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Damn it!”
Cassie peered around one of the platform’s lichen-stained pillars. The Diviners were walking up the same trail they’d have to take to get back to the house.
To add to the confusion, a sudden beeping sound began to emit. Hush pointed upward: an oval television mounted on a pillar displayed a commercial for branding irons, but then words they’d already seen began to roll:
ALERT! ALERT! STAY TUNED FOR AN URGENT BULLETIN FROM THE LUCIFERIC EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM
It was the same turtle-face anchorwoman whose face appeared next. “Military authorities have just reported an insurgent attack in the outskirts of the city’s revered Mephisto District. Illegal Nectoports are being activated as I report this....”
Cassie watched, astonished. A news clip flashed on the screen, showing hordes of figures in black metal armor wielding swords and axes against platoons of Ushers. In the background, buildings were on fire.
“Divination sources speculate that previous news of a genuine Etheress in Hell triggered the outbreak by inciting the infamous Satan Park Contumacy, headed by the national traitor Ezoriel, but the Joint Demons are confident that the poorly planned attack will be no match for our security forces. Mutilation Squads have already been Nectoported to the scene and are soundly defeating the rebel troops....”
Another flash showed more of the fray; phalanxes of the black-armored troops mowing down Ushers and Golems like weeds. What immediately occurred to Cassie was that the Mutilation Squads didn’t seem to be defeating anyone.
“What a bunch of propaganda bullshit,” Via chuckled. “The Mutilation Squads are getting their asses kicked. This is great!”
The anchorwoman gulped. “Uh, and, uh, meanwhile the hunt for Etheress Cassie Heydon goes on.” Cassie’s composite briefly flashed. “She still has not cooperated with the Constabulary, and it’s only a matter of time now before the generous Commissioner Himmler has no choice but to sentence the Etheress’ twin sister to eternal torture.”
Cassie’s heart flinched at the next clip: Lissa hanging by her wrists over the squirming vat of Razor-Leeches.
“To make matters worse,” the newscaster went on, “this human XR—a long-time fugitive—has escaped custody after having brutally murdered five detention officers.”

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