Hekate's Chalice Page 7

  He stood on the bottom steps of a stairway that led up to a three-storied art deco house, with paintwork so blindingly white in the hot bright sunlight it hurt his eyes, and he had to squint to see anything.

  The central structure bore the familiar soft round shape typical of the style, and was flanked on the right by an elegant wing of the same height, and on the left, by a stylish single story extension. Placed in extensive grounds, the garden contained a substantial variety of desert cacti set in reddish sand. The sun beat down on his head out of a cloudless pale pink sky, and the air contained the faintest trace of sulfur.

  “Mi casa es su casa,” Ascepius waved toward his residence. “The swimming pool is out back if you care to indulge?”

  JB blinked, and pinched his wrist hard. Nope, the 1930’s architect’s dream hadn’t moved. “Not right now. I need to find Gemma.”

  “I can tell you’ve got my blood in your veins—business first, eh?” He displayed his brilliantly white sharp fangs in a wide smile.

  JB followed Ascepius up the stairway, appreciating the coolness of the marble under his touch, and in through the grand arched entrance. From what he observed, the interior continued in the same elegant style, and no expense had been spared. As he followed his grandfather, JB’s head periscoped from side to side taking in the opulent rooms bordering the hallway. “Is this Hell?” he asked.

  Ascepius laughed, a loud booming sound that bounced off the walls. “This isn’t the only hellish planet. We have a number of them.” He ushered JB into what appeared to be a study. The walls were lined with bookcases and a black oak table contained a desktop computer with a sizeable screen, a couple of chairs, and a couch. “You humans don’t know how lucky you are that the chemical composition of your atmosphere is inimical to my species.” He shot a calculating look at JB.

  JB had the feeling his grandfather was testing him, but he refused to be intimidated. “How come you can visit then?”

  “The more powerful the daemon, the longer we can remain. Is your breathing okay?”

  JB took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Seems fine.”

  “Yes, even a quarter daemon means you should be able to cope with our atmosphere. Tell me if you start having difficulty.”

  JB hoped the situation wouldn’t arise. He wanted to find Gemma and leave before any such complications occurred. “So how powerful is Gelon?”

  “Not very. There are certain spells that extend a lesser daemon’s ability to stay on your world.” He nodded at the bookshelves.

  JB wondered if these were rare tomes of arcane literature and if he’d get the chance to study a few.

  “And most wizards know a few incantations that allow a daemon to stay until a particular task is accomplished.”

  Ah, thought JB, so Lazlo did more than summon Gelon. “Is it normal for daemons to kill their accomplices?”

  Ascepius shrugged. “That varies. It wouldn’t have been something he thought about much. Most likely an impulse.” Ascepius pulled a cord hanging by the window, and a servant winked into the room.

  “Yes, master?” A smaller red-brown daemon, dressed like a butler with a starched white shirt, bow tie, black suit, and neatly sharpened horns appeared. He bowed to Ascepius and glanced at JB, dismissing him at once as unimportant.

  JB ignored the subtle insult. He was here for one thing only. Well, two things. But he had no intention of ever returning once he had what he came for.

  “Call Pythios. Tell him to come right away.”

  The butler bowed again, “Yes, master,” and winked out.

  “Come here, Jean-Baptiste.”

  “You see there, over by the pool? Those fine specimens are your cousins.”

  JB crossed the study, stood next to his grandfather and gazed out over the huge back yard. He shook his head and blinked a few times as sensory overload stunned his mind.

  At least a dozen daemons were gathered around an Olympic-size swimming pool. Some were older, some younger, some bigger, some smaller, and they came in a variety of shades from pale bronze to deep copper. Several sprawled on deck chairs sipping drinks, while others swam, and a bunch of youngsters engaged in a dunking game. Other than the reddish hue that painted the sky, the earth, and even the water, and apart from the horns on their heads and their elongated razor claws, this might be any group of adolescent and young males come together to enjoy themselves. There were no females in sight.

  “But today you’re here on business, and between you and me, they may not view you with kindness. They are still a mite jealous of what they perceive as my favoritism of your father.”

  Favoritism? His father hadn’t mentioned that as a reason for the treatment he received from his daemonic relations when visiting. But then, he had no idea how a daemon father showed his partiality. A knock on the door drew his attention away from his relatives. He gave a silent sigh of relief at being spared the questionable pleasure of meeting his cousins.

  “Enter,” Ascepius called.

  “Pythios to see you, master,” the butler announced, opening the door for the visitor.

  JB was surprised the guest hadn’t simply manifested, but maybe there was an etiquette that had to be observed when daemon masters visited each other.

  Pythios wasn’t as tall or as muscular as Ascepius. His eyes flicked continually around the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. He didn’t appear keen to meet Ascepius’s gaze.

  JB wondered why he was so nervous. Was his grandfather so ruthless that other daemons trembled in his presence? That worked for him, especially if it made finding Gemma easier.

  “How long have we known each other, Pythios?”

  “Since we were pups.”

  JB pictured litters of tiny daemons snarling and ripping at each other till one dominated the others. He shuddered.

  Ascepius opened a drawer in the desk and took out a remote control device. Pointing it at a huge painting on the opposite wall, he pressed a button. The painting slid aside revealing an outsized wall-mounted screen.

  JB’s mouth dropped open. Were there any items these daemons weren’t able to acquire? How did they get the stuff here? Was there a door-to-door delivery via portal service? Did you pay extra for next day delivery?

  “Is he one of yours?” Ascepius asked as he brought up the clip of Bathsheba and Gelon in the vampire bar.

  Pythios walked up to the screen and studied the picture.

  Ascepius zoomed in on a tattoo of a curved sigil on Gelon’s upper arm, an inch below his T-shirt sleeve.

  “Yes, he’s mine. A lower rank, the name is Gelon. He’s ambitious and unscrupulous.”

  JB doubted there was any other type of daemon. How could a scrupulous daemon possibly achieve success in Hell?

  “I want him. Where is he now?”

  “I believe he’s at the Games.”

  “What’s the prize this week?”

  “A human female.”

  “A human female?” Ascepius repeated, his voice a soft murmur.

  “What–” JB interrupted, but his grandfather held up his hand, and JB found he couldn’t speak.

  “I want her.” The more Ascepius lowered his voice, the lower Pythios’s head bowed in subservience.

  “Of course, Ascepius. Your wish is my command.” He checked his watch—a smaller Rolex than his grandfather’s. “The Games are about to start, so we’d better get moving.”

  Ascepius waved his hand again, and the band squeezing JB’s throat eased. Please, dear God, he sent a prayer skyward, if you could get Gemma and me back to planet earth, I promise I’ll set up a direct debit for St. Bartholomew’s orphanage. He’d stopped believing God paid any attention to his prayers after his mother fell ill, and he was pretty sure He didn’t accept bribes, but it was worth a try. JB felt the burn from Ascepius’s grip on his arm, this time, the left one—at least he’d have matching brands, he thought, and with a pop, a pff, and a scrape of nails through his innards, the three of them left his grandfather’s mansion.
/>   Chapter Twelve: Time Unknown

  JB thought he’d lost his sanity as his brain refused to accept the nightmare truth of the scene. He, Ascepius, and Pythios stood on the highest tier of an enormous red sandstone amphitheater packed full of roaring daemons out for what appeared to be the local equivalent of the Saturday baseball game. His agitated vision picked out clusters of older and younger daemons passing large containers back and forth of what had to be some kind of intoxicant judging by the jeers and yells that accompanied the drinking. He saw family groups buying trays of something he didn’t want to identify from sellers who paraded up and down the aisles, adding their sales pitch to the din.

  Two hulking fiery-faced daemons seated nearby turned around, and their red-flamed eyes zoomed in on JB. His heart started to thud as they snarled at him, but Ascepius draped a heavy arm around JB’s shoulders, a public declaration that this human was under his protection.

  The two antagonists subsided. Ascepius was evidently not to be trifled with.

  JB wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but he breathed a little easier.

  The clamor dwindled, and everyone settled down to watch as the entertainment started.

  “This way.” Pythios led them along the walkway behind the back tier.

  Ahead JB noticed a raised balcony where a daemon stood gazing over the multitude. Oddly enough, the microphone in his hand didn’t look out of place. There was something familiar about the figure, but an eruption of cheers and heckles from the audience drew his attention to the arena floor where a dozen naked horned and taloned daemons raced into the stadium. Their bodies glistened with oil and as a horn blasted, they paired off. The horn rent the air a second time and the combatants flew at each other and began wrestling.

  JB stared, transfixed. This must Hell’s version of gladiatorial sport.

  JB felt Ascepius’s hot breath in his ear. “Death wrestling isn’t a sport. These have been caught breaking our laws, and none but the final winner will walk away from here alive.”

  JB was surprised to hear daemons had laws, but the phrase ‘death wrestling’ needed no explanation. “Oh.”

  “We have no word for sport in our language,” his grandfather continued. “The word sport means prey in our tongue. And you’ll notice there aren’t any referees.”

  JB hadn’t noticed, but, yeah, the whole fight till death fitted in with what his father had told him about daemons.

  “Quick, our target has spotted us.” Ascepius tapped JB’s shoulder, and he loped after Pythios toward the MC’s platform.

  JB had been so dumbfounded by the scene taking place below him, he’d lost focus, but now he realized why the figure had looked familiar—it was Gelon. An image of Gemma teasing him in the vamp bar rose in his mind, and as anger fueled his legs, he raced after Gelon, who disappeared through an exit at the back of the booth.

  Ascepius, Pythios, and JB sped after their target into a dim passageway, the only sound the muted slapping of their feet on the sand dusted floor, and the panting wheeze of JB’s chest as he gasped for air. His legs moved fast enough to keep up with the two master daemons, but whether it was the chemical composition of the air or not, he was finding it harder to breathe as they gained on their quarry.

  The passage darkened as it bent to the left, and JB couldn’t tell for sure, but he would swear it was getting hotter.

  Gelon was nowhere to be seen.

  “Watch out!” yelled Pythios, and Ascepius shoved JB behind him as a loud explosion cracked the air a few meters in front of them, and flames licked up the walls, scorching the ceiling.

  JB’s hair was singed, his skin was flushed with heat, and his eardrums shattered.

  Ascepius gave JB a quick once over and appeared satisfied his grandson was still in one piece. “Good,” he said as they moved on again. “If that’s the best he’s got this daemon’s spells are of no substance. He is full of bluster.”

  They might not have any substance as far as you’re concerned, thought JB, but I sure felt it. His vision had blurred, and he was certain his hearing must be damaged for life, as they belted around another corner and spotted Gelon in the distance.

  Time and time again, as they pursued the daemon further and further into the bowels of the amphitheater, Ascepius thrust JB behind him, as he and Pythios bore the brunt of Gelon’s attacks. JB recalled his father once mentioning something about daemon ‘honor’. Apparently, while they could eviscerate each other as much as they wished inside a family, it was considered dishonorable to allow outsiders the same privilege. But to JB, continuing to chase Gelon made little sense when a blast from either of the master daemons could finish him.

  The tunnel was now almost devoid of light and the heat was unbearable. He started to lag behind and knew he wasn’t thinking straight anymore. Ascepius grabbed his arm. JB didn’t protest, but let his grandfather drag him along, as he focused on keeping one foot moving in front of the other, and staying upright. This wasn’t his world, he had little power here, and while he realized his grandfather could throw him over his shoulder and it wouldn’t slow him at all, he was grateful to be spared that humiliation.

  Pythios and Ascepius kept up the relentless chase as the subterranean passage narrowed, and they continued to deflect Gelon’s attacks with ease. The message was clear: they didn’t consider him a challenge, were enjoying the chase, and it was merely a matter of time before they apprehended him. They came to a halt at a split in the passageway.

  JB was glad for the respite.

  “Oh, that’s a tricksy move,” said Ascepius. “He’s used a cloaking spell. Well, anything for a little more fun. Pythios you take the right, we’ll go left.”

  “Signal me if you spot him.”

  “Of course.”

  JB had somehow gained a second wind, or else his daemon aspect had increased with the close physical contact with Ascepius. Or maybe being in this place had done that, but he was now able to keep up with his grandfather as they ran along the ever-narrowing passageway. His eyes had also adjusted, and a dim reddish light filled the subway.

  They turned a corner and came to a dead end.

  “Well, it seems Pythios has the luck on this occasion.” Ascepius’s eyes gleamed with annoyance at being deprived of his prey. “We’d better head back,” and he set off at the same relentless pace back up the tunnel.

  JB turned to follow when an arm across his throat lifted him off his feet, choking him. His fingers scrabbled at the rock-hard muscled arm throttling him and he tried to call his grandfather, but all that came out was a gagging sound as Gelon tightened his hold.

  “Keep still, you maggoty little human worm.” Gelon’s breath was hot in his ear. “We’re waiting for your granddaddy to notice your absence.”

  JB stilled as the daemon pressed his arm tighter against his throat and held a wickedly curved scimitar to the side of his chest where it would pierce his heart after it sliced through his ribcage. There wasn’t a lot else he could do with his toes barely touching the floor, and his life being squeezed out of his body.

  The familiar pff and popping sound of a portal opening came from behind them, and Gelon whipped around, shuffling back as Ascepius appeared.

  “And there I was, thinking we could come to an amicable arrangement.” Ascepius’s tone was casual. More like how many sugars do you like in your tea, rather than get your hands off my grandson’s neck, you murdering fiend.

  “You don’t fool me, Ascepius.” Gelon’s voice grated, as his arm tightened. “No one in their right mind would trust you to keep a promise.”

  JB saw stars at the edge of his vision. Visiting his daemon relatives wasn’t going anywhere near as well as he’d hoped.

  “Well, I am a daemon and that’s my nature.” Ascepius smiled broadly and winked at JB. “But I can offer you a quick death instead of flaying the skin off your body, and a slow evisceration of your organs in reverse order of importance.” His grandfather examined his nails before returning his attention to Gel
on.

  A creeping darkness replaced the little sparkly lights at the edge of JB’s sight, and the wheezing noise filling his ears came from his lungs as they desperately gasped for more air.

  “You do realize don’t you, that if you strangle him, you’ll lose your leverage?” Ascepius sounded bored.

  Gelon responded by easing the pressure a tad.

  JB’s ability to see improved as air rushed into his lungs again.

  “You’ll deal with Pythios?”

  JB clenched and stretched the fingers of his left hand.

  “Why do you even ask when you know who is the greater daemon.”

  “What terms do you offer?” Gelon nerves gained the better of him, and his grip on JB’s neck tightened. The hand holding the scimitar trembled as if he was a junkie in detox.

  JB’s vision blackened again.

  Ascepius pointed at JB’s neck and wriggled his finger, his expression that of letting someone know they had a crumb or two stuck in their beard after eating.

  Gelon released the pressure.

  “What do you have in mind?” Ascepius checked his Rolex as if he were running late for an appointment.

  JB wriggled his left fingers and the tip of his knife scraped against his skin as it slid down into his hand.

  “First off, I want the human female. She’s mine by right of–” Gelon’s voice rose in a scream as JB plunged his dagger into the daemon’s side.

  Chapter Thirteen: Time, Still Unknown

  JB staggered forward as Gelon abruptly released his hold.

  Ascepius blurred into motion and thrust JB behind him.

  The end was brief. Gelon stood with his back to the wall, his legs shaking, and one hand clutching his side as a slow trickle of black ichor leaked from the stab wound. His face twisted with fear, his lips curling with hate as he looked at JB. In one last effort, he flung his hands toward them, but he’d exhausted his power and all he managed were a few dull sparks.