Stranger at the Hell Gate
Read Stranger at the Hell Gate Online
Authors: Ash Krafton
Tags: #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Demons-Gargoyles
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Stranger
at the Hell Gate
by
Ash Krafton
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Stranger at the Hell Gate
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Ash Krafton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Black Rose Edition, 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-846-2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my beloveds...
Acknowledgements
I’d like to acknowledge Callie Lynn Wolfe, my editor.
A writer will look at a story and say,
It is finished
.
A great editor will look at that story and say,
Not yet
.
Thank you, Callie Lynn, for finding that piece of story that needed to be told, and urging me to write it.
You have given me the courage to reveal my characters’ secrets, and made me a better writer for it.
ANGELS
Nightfall never came without a price in this city.
Like so many others in this world, the city was a conglomeration of concrete and chrome, its suburbs spinning off from the center like great galactic arms. Humans huddled together, heaping dwelling upon dwelling, building their spires in admirable attempts to pierce the skies. In time, the city's heart grew so thick and congested that sunlight could not penetrate its depths. Day and night alike were eternally cloaked in a blanket of electric illumination. People moved in masses, caught in the ebb and flow of common, unremarkable life.
Further from the city's center, the architecture thinned, the population thinned. Here, the sunlight reached the earth, washing the slower pace of less-urgent living in a warm glow. By daylight, the streets were touched by light's grace, each cloudless day a blessing.
By night…that blessing was forgotten.
A woman in travel-worn trousers and a half-cloak hurried through the trash-strewn streets. Soon, the sun would set and night would begin its chaotic reign. She didn't want to spend another night hiding in a church. She didn't want to spend another night
looking
for a church to hide in.
The sunset painted the buildings with a desperate wash of sullen orange, doing little to gentle the harshness of weathered stone. The light created long shadows, shadows she'd swear moved as she strode through the deserted streets.
She covered her mouth and nose against the scent of smoke and sulfur, so thick in the air, she tasted it. The woman knew full well there were dark things that kept to the shadows, waiting for daylight to die. Those dark things were hungry for the moment when the shadows would swallow the city, giving them free range.
Careful to keep to the still-sunlit center of the street, she moved quickly and determinedly through the city, whispering a quick prayer of thanks when she caught sight of her destination. A green neon sign over the porch blinked into life, gleaming through the rising shadows:
DEMONIC INTERVENTIONS
.
By the time she'd climbed the steps, sunlight had surrendered to the damnable dusk. She pulled her dusty cloak more tightly around her and shivered.
Not a good omen
, she mused. It wasn't in her nature to be superstitious but she couldn't suppress the chill.
It wasn't the nicest building in town. It may well have been the least inviting. Something about a stone door bearing strange symbols made a person think twice about knocking.
Or maybe it was the deep claw marks that marred it. That could have been it, too.
When the door was yanked open by a silver-haired man wearing little more than pants and a pair of leather boots, Sonya almost turned and ran down the steps. Thin lines of scars dotted his body like dewy cobwebs and a black leather strap crossed his chest, hinting at a weapon on his back. But that wasn't what scared her.
It was the flatness of his stare. He had the coldest eyes she'd ever seen. Those eyes told her that scars and weapons were both daily exercises.
The man did a quick up-and-down glance before crossing his arms, filling the doorway. "I think you got the wrong address, lady."
Everything about him screamed
run
. It took a lot of effort not to listen to his unspoken signals.
She swallowed and planted her feet. "No...I'm quite sure this is the right place."
He smiled a cocky slant that flashed teeth and leaned against the door. His chin lifted. "Who ya looking for?"
"You." She reached into a cloth pouch on her belt and pulled out a crystal wrapped in wire. A rosy glow pulsed from within like a gentle heartbeat. "Definitely you."
His brows lowered but his expression didn't change. "What the hell is that thing?"
"A compass." The bright crystal generated heat as well as light, warming the wire to the point of discomfort. She turned it over in her palm before it could burn her hand.
"Doesn't look like any compass I ever seen."
Slipping it back into the pouch, she shrugged. "I don't think they give these out at scout camp."
"I ain't a boy scout."
"No. You aren't." She licked her lips and braced herself. "You're a demon."
He twisted an arm behind him. Metal scraped against hard leather, the sound of a sword sliding free of its sheath. His arm whipped a tight arc over his head, weapon in hand.
"Relax." She raised her hands and backed away from the sword he pointed at her chest. "You don't need that."
"Look, lady. Anyone comes in here callin' names like that makes me a little jumpy."
She tilted her head and looked up at him. "Do I look like a threat?"
He lowered the blade but didn't put it away. "Bad things come in pretty packages."
"I am not a threat."
"Then what do you want? I'm on the clock, lady. If you're looking to hire a hunter, then you need to talk to my agent." He glanced over his shoulder, turning enough so she could see around him. A man on the far side of the room appeared to be speaking on the phone.
"I...don't know," she said. "All I knew was I had to find you."
"And that disco rock?"
"It's how I found you. Only the blood of Tallon can waken it."
The cocky mask slipped all the way off, and he moved out of the doorway, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "You better come inside."
She made as wide a berth around him as the doorway would allow. He leaned out, peering hard at the twilight-soaked streets, in both directions, before shutting the door and sliding the dead bolt across.
DEMONS
He reached up and slid the top bolt shut for good measure, before turning to check out the girl standing in the center of his office. Whenever someone knocked on his door this time of night, it usually meant a job. Or a fight, as occasionally the jobs went looking for him. "Hey, Enzo. We got a guest."
"Client?" called the man from a side room. He'd hung up the phone when the girl came in and slipped around the corner to a storage closet. His query was followed by the slamming of a file cabinet drawer. A second sound followed: the quiet
snick
of a gun being cocked.
That Enzo, always watching my back. Like I need help with this.
Aloud, he said "Hell if I know."
Jagger was a demon hunter. There tended to be a lot of hazard in the occupation and never a shortage of work. Especially when a guy lived so close to a hell gate.
Then again, Jagger always seemed to be living close to a hell gate. When they moved, he moved.
Skinny girls with big blue eyes never knocked on his door after sundown. They usually didn't knock
before
sundown, either, at least not since that buck-toothed dork took over the pizza delivery job.
You'd think they'd get a foxy little thing to deliver, you know. Drum up business. Speaking of which...
"Hungry?"
"Um, yeah." She stood with hands folded, fingers tightly laced, looking around with wide eyes. "I could eat something."
Jagger guessed if he were seeing his office for the first time, he'd stare, too. A myriad of heads hung from the walls, faces frozen in grotesque expression. Demons, even trophied ones, were ugly.
Ah, well. Home sweet Hell.
"I don't suppose you have a kitchen?" She seemed to have recovered from the initial shock of the décor. "I can cook."
"Nah, no kitchen. Just meals on wheels." He flipped open a pizza box on the desk and pulled a slice free.
When she saw the pizza, she smiled. It was like sun crawling over the horizon after a really bad night. Approaching the desk with small unsure steps, she lifted a slice in her fingers and gazed at it a moment before taking a bite. Her eyes half-closed, ecstasy glazing every inch of her expression.
"Oh. This." She chewed, swallowed, and leveled a knowing look at him. "This is good."
He felt both chastised and praised. Odd combination, considering he never really felt one or the other before. Sure, it was good pizza. But he never met anyone who liked it the way he did.
"Hey, Enzo," he called over his shoulder. "I think I found my soul mate."
ANGELS
"Start at the beginning." Jagger unhooked his harness and shrugged off the scabbard, swinging it to the floor.
The sword was massive, at least four inches across with a two-handed grip. The runes that marked the leather were archaic but familiar. They spelled
protection
in one direction and
curse
in the other.
Sonya knew the charm was in who held the sword and who met its naked blade. She knew no ordinary man could carry those runes and maintain his sanity. That type of duality would shred even the strongest soul.
The harness removed, he reached up and rubbed his shoulder, drawing attention to a sickle-shaped scar on the skin over his heart. Unlike his other scars, this was a deep ridge, almost a branding. There was a story in that scar.
She pulled her gaze away from it. "I don't know the beginning; all I can do is start when I became aware. That was three days ago."
The quick meal had done much to ease her travel-weariness and now she rested more or less comfortably on a couch in the corner of the office. She'd raked her dusty hair back from her forehead before twisting it into a tight bun at her nape.
More than office, she surmised, spying the pillow on the floor next to the couch. The fact that he allowed her to rest in his personal space spoke much for his willingness to listen. She expected a lot worse when she uttered the name of
Tallon.
Enzo, the man who'd been hiding behind a door when she arrived, now occupied the desk, scribbling notes. He was a quiet man with quick eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Integrity shined in him like moonlight.
So did suspicion. She couldn't hold it against him. He worked for a demon—and she was anything but.
Jagger straddled a chair and took a deep breath. "How do you know about my father?"
"They told me his name."
"Who told you?"
"Figures in dark clothes. Hoods, I think, like the monks of Parador wear." She shrugged. "It wasn't my place to question."
"You didn't get a name, did you?"
"Actually," she said, tapping her lip. "They did tell me a name. Eranil. Said you'd know that name."
His voice was leaden. "You were with him?"
"I'm sorry." She dropped her gaze. "I don't know. It was just a name. I might have been."
He remained silent, eyes impassive.
Puzzled by his stony reaction, she took a deep breath. "So. They gave me this stone and pointed to the road. I was turned out with the clothes on my back, a velvet purse that never runs out of coin, and this compass. ‘Find Tallon's son,’ they said. ‘He will unlock the door.’”