Wicked Road to Hell Page 17

  Ana followed Francesca inside. She wasn’t sure what she abhorred more, the sickly sweet smell of sugar from the pastry rack to her left or the heavy scent of greasy bacon.

  She took a second, her gaze sweeping the entire area, but there were no otherworld creatures present. In fact, there was nothing whatsoever that indicated the place was anything more than a greasy spoon.

  All the stools at the counter were occupied save for the last one on the left. Francesca leaned against it and Ana slid in beside her.

  The necromancer was shivering. Light rain had soaked them both, though Ana welcomed the coolness of it against her skin. One of the perks of being vampire. The ability to regulate your body temp to whatever the hell was in play.

  A young teenaged couple caught Ana’s eye and she watched them kiss and play footsies underneath the table as they waited for their food. She thought of Kaden. What did his future hold? A girlfriend? Date nights? A lover?

  Heartache and pain?

  “So why are you risking your life for these kids?”

  Ana turned at Francesca’s soft question. “It’s what I do. What I was brought back for . . . the saving of children or whoever else is in trouble.”

  “Brought back?” Francesca’s brows furled.

  “It’s a long story,” Ana murmured.

  “Kaden means a lot to you.” An astute observation.

  Ana bit her lip. “He does.” She nodded. “At first he was just a boy I was asked to protect but . . .”

  “But?” Francesca prodded.

  She shrugged. “He’s special and he’s alone and he’s had a shitty go of it. If I ever had a son, I’d want him to be like Kaden.”

  Like Declan. Ana’s heart constricted at the thought. Kaden reminded her of the man she loved . . . and of a child that would never be.

  Declan owned her heart and since he was not vampire she would never know the joy of holding her own child. Vampires could not reproduce with anyone other than their own kind.

  “What’s the deal with you and the sorcerer?”

  Ana was getting annoyed. She hated questions. “I’m not looking for a heart-to-heart girlie talk. There is no deal. Declan is nothing more than a complication and I—”

  “Holy crap. What the hell is that on your neck?”

  Ana was thankful for the interruption and turned to the waitress behind the counter. She was young, most likely close to Francesca’s age. Bright pink lipstick was slapped onto overly ripe lips, and her breasts nearly fell from the too-small tank top she wore.

  Francesca’s hand fell to Samael’s slave collar, her fingers running along the skin nervously. “It’s a tattoo.”

  “I can see that,” the girl replied. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out,” the necromancer murmured. “Jake around?”

  The waitress’s eyes narrowed and she nodded toward the kitchen. “He’s in the back, why?”

  “No reason, I just . . .”

  Ana surmised by the stain of red that flushed Francesca’s cheeks this Jake was the man she’d been trying to impress when she’d inadvertently summoned Samael.

  “I just,” the necromancer continued, “forgot my bag in his office the last time I was here.”

  “Ah huh.” The waitress frowned.

  “Um, there’s no need to bother Jake. I could just grab it and go.” Francesca’s voice held a hint of nervousness as she fingered a napkin.

  “We’re not supposed to let anyone back there.”

  “I promise I’ll be quick,” Francesca said. “I don’t think I can see him right now. Things didn’t . . . the last time I saw him . . .”

  “I warned you he was a douche bag.” The waitress’s voice softened. “It’s probably locked though, but you can try.”

  Ana followed Francesca to the back of the diner, past the booths and into a darkened hall that led to the restrooms. They walked to the end and turned left, quickly sliding past the kitchen area. A set of doors led them into a stockroom.

  “Through here.” Francesca pointed toward the far corner. The door was locked but Ana had no problem crushing the handle and within seconds they were safely ensconced within Jake’s office.

  The walls were filled with photos of women in various stages of dress and an impressive array of Harleys. Great. The man liked tits and bikes. A real winner. Ana made a face and turned to Francesca.

  “Don’t even go there,” the necromancer mumbled.

  A desk stood in the corner, overflowing with papers; a dingy window graced the opposite wall. It was the sorriest-looking space she’d seen in a long while and Ana frowned as she glanced at Francesca.

  “A portal to the underworld exists here?”

  “Open up your mind, Ana. Feel the subtle vibrations that color the air.”

  Ana shrugged. “I’m a vampire, not psychic. Sensitivity isn’t one of my strong suits.”

  “You don’t say,” Francesca shot back. “Give me a few minutes. The stupid thing moves around and I need to concentrate in order to find it.”

  “What do you mean it moves around?”

  Francesca remained silent, closed her eyes, and held her hands out, palms up. Her long fingers moved slowly as she turned in a circle. Ana watched her closely. The whole thing stank of weird mojo but she couldn’t deny the tremulous waves of energy that lapped at her body.

  The necromancer continued to mumble a bunch of words Ana didn’t understand and she stood back as a low-grade humming started.

  Francesca crossed to the desk and ran her hands along the surface, inches above the mess of papers. Her fingers slid over a laptop, a couple of picture frames before she grabbed hold of a paperweight, which incidentally wasn’t being used to its full advantage.

  Several mountains of bills fluttered to the floor as Ana continued to watch. That couldn’t be the portal, could it? Francesca swore and tossed the paperweight back onto the desk.

  Guess not.

  The humming continued to build in strength as the redhead chanted loudly. The sensation was uncomfortable and Ana shook her head, trying to relieve the pressure in her ears.

  Pain hit her in the chest suddenly, and she nearly fell to her knees. The air was sucked from her lungs and she clutched at her chest. She felt empty, bereft. He was gone.

  Ana’s eyes flew open. “You have to hurry. He’s there . . . in Hell.”

  The necromancer stopped suddenly. Ana held her breath as the woman crossed to the far wall, her hands still outstretched. She stopped in front of an elaborate portrait of a classic Harley. It dominated the wall, was heavily framed in gilt. Francesca’s hands ran along the seams of the picture.

  “This is it,” she whispered.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Ana replied as she stepped beside her.

  Francesca grabbed her hand and Ana hissed as a shot of energy slid through her body. “Feel this,” the woman whispered.

  Heat ran up her arm. It was painful and Ana yanked her hand from Francesca’s. Nervous energy barreled through her gut and her breaths fell in short, quick bursts.

  “How do we do this?” she asked softly as she eyed the Harley. The painting had taken on a tinge of green as if backlit with a wash of light.

  “Once I open it, you won’t have a lot of time. You get close enough and it’ll suck you in.”

  “Just like that?”

  Francesca nodded. “Just like that.”

  Ana glanced at the large frame and loosened her stance. “Okay then.”

  “Have you ever been below?” Francesca asked carefully. Sweat beaded along her forehead and her skin looked sickly. Her hands were still palm out. The thread of energy that ran from the tips of her fingers was now visible to Ana.

  The vampire shook her head. “No.”

  “I’ve seen glimpses.” She looked away quickly. “Since I’ve been linked to Samael, that is. He’s shown me things I don’t understand.” Francesca shook her head slowly. “It’s not at all what I expected it to be.”

&n
bsp; The tension in Ana’s belly was becoming more pronounced by the second. “Can we get on with it?”

  The painting pulsated, widening and then thinning back and forth like a rubber band. Francesca looked scared. Ana gritted her teeth. That so didn’t bode well for her.

  “When you get down there you need to find a place called Club Doom. That’s where I saw Samael.”

  Ana looked at the necromancer in surprise. A club?

  The humming vibrated into a loud shriek that swept through the room as the picture elongated. The glow was now a fiery red, the heat of it slammed against her skin. She wondered briefly if it would burn—if her vampire body could even withstand the heat.

  No matter. There was no choice. She took a step forward and then another until she was inches from the portal.

  Ana glanced at Francesca and the two women stared at each other for several seconds. “Be safe and bring my sister back,” the necromancer whispered.

  The vampire nodded. Francesca widened her stance and closed her eyes. Ana watched as a dark hole appeared in the middle of the glowing portrait. It shimmered and within seconds enveloped the entire frame.

  “Now.” Francesca’s voice was hoarse, urgent.

  Ana did not hesitate. She clenched her hands together and stepped forward. Searing heat flickered along her flesh and for one brief moment such terror and fear clogged her mind that she was sure she screamed.

  Then she was falling and there was nothing but darkness.

  The smell of sulfur was Ana’s first impression of Hell. It was subtle, not nearly as overpowering as she’d expected, but it was there, tingling along her nasal passages.

  She was on her stomach, facedown, cheek resting against a hard, flat surface. It was damp, cold. Sounds echoed in her ear—voices, conversations, and the loud thrum of music.

  Her body ached and she rolled over. Slowly her eyes opened, and it took a few seconds for them to focus. She was in an alley, a narrow chasm between two large buildings.

  Ana sat up and groaned. Her head was thick, her mouth fuzzy. Fog rolled in from the opening of the alley, slithering along the ground like long, clawlike fingers. Edges of gray mist sparkled, shot through with a weird green color. She pushed herself to her knees and rose.

  A small squeak made her jump and nearly fall back again as she looked to the side. Two beady eyes glowed bright in the dark as a small animal sniffed at her toes and then scrambled off.

  She relaxed a bit. Who knew rats existed in Hell?

  Her body felt weird, off center, like her equilibrium was all screwed up. Ana inhaled a huge gulp of air and took a few cautious steps forward. The walls on either side of her were brick, and in fact the alley looked no different from any you’d find in the human realm.

  Where the hell was the fire? The brimstone? The bloody pits of Hell?

  She crept forward, not liking the way the fog caressed her booted legs as she did so. It felt alive somehow, as if there was a presence within the mist.

  Ana reached the edge of the alley and froze as a shadow passed in front of her. It stopped, solidified into a shape that while not humanlike, was close enough. It was an ethereal being, spectral in nature, and drifted a few inches above the ground, its feet hidden within the fog. She couldn’t tell if it was male or female. The damn thing reminded her of the shades she’d encountered in Vegas.

  Its eyes were hollowed out, dark holes that stared at her in silence. Ana wasn’t sure how long they were frozen, staring at each other, not saying a word, but suddenly the specter moved, glancing behind it before disappearing from view.

  Something echoed just beyond the range of her vision. It bounced along the brick walls and faded quickly. And then sounded again.

  She realized it was the steady, even gait of a footfall.

  Someone was out there—someone who didn’t float upon the air, but had legs. Which meant there was substance to it.

  Ana loosened her hands, rolled her shoulders, and let her fangs slide out. She melted into the shadows, lifted her arms, and rose into the air. Her fingers dug into the brick and her boots gripped the wall tightly as she clung to the side like a spider.

  She was nearly twenty feet from the ground and watched the opening carefully as the footsteps got closer. She held her breath and waited.

  Something stopped just outside the alley. It was tall, with massive shoulders that were covered with long, sharp spikes. Because it was dark, Ana couldn’t tell if the spikes protruded from flesh or were part of his clothing.

  It took another step, its large frame moving into a beam of light, and her eyes widened at the sight. He was a demon; the fiery eyes pretty much sealed that deal. His nostrils flared and his massive head rotated slowly as he perused the darkened alley.

  Ana was so engrossed in watching the demon that when a tickle crept up her arm she nearly fell. The freaking neighborhood rat crawled beside her, its beastly eyes glowing with feral delight as it eyed her up.

  Its nose twitched, its teeth chomped madly, their razorlike ends glistening in what little light there was.

  Ana gripped the brick tightly with her right hand as her left shot out, her fingers closing around the little bastard’s neck with lethal precision. In one quick move she snapped its neck, taking care not to do too much damage. She didn’t want the scent of blood in the air.

  She froze as a splash of water signaled the demon had taken at least one step farther into the alley. Ana turned her head slowly, carefully remaining as still as possible as the demon stared up into the darkness, his eyes trained on the exact spot where she was.

  Jesus fuck, if he spied her, her sojourn into the underworld might be brief. And painful.

  The demon took another step until the dark shadows from below hid most of his face. Ana gritted her teeth as she stared down at him, a lifeless rat held tight in her left hand.

  She heard him grunt. Her muscles bunched in anticipation as adrenaline flooded her small frame. She gripped the rat tightly. It was the only weapon available to her and if needed, she’d use it, hope for the element of surprise. Pretty pathetic but there was nothing else.

  A voice drew the demon’s attention and she held her breath as he turned. The words spoken were guttural, too low for Ana to hear properly, however she thought she heard doom. Her ears perked in interest.

  Ana couldn’t see who or rather what spoke and remained still as the two conversed. The conversation lasted for all of ten seconds and then the demon glanced her way once more. Its chest rattled loudly with each breath it took and then he turned abruptly. He followed the voice out of the alley and left her alone with the dead rat.

  She tossed the carcass behind her and dropped to the floor before creeping forward once more. Slowly she turned the corner and couldn’t believe what she saw. In her wildest imaginings she’d never envisioned Hell like this.

  It looked like a typical city street. One from the shit-ass part of town to be sure, but a street nonetheless. Refuse blew down the sidewalk, dancing in the warm air that ruffled her hair. Shops lined the street; however, none appeared to be open, and most looked abandoned, with broken windows or boarded-up facades.

  The strange mist that clung to her boots and slithered along her jean-clad legs was everywhere. Above her, darkness ruled a sky that ripped open with slashes of red. They slid across the vast space, disappearing and then reappearing like ribbons of scarlet. There were no stars, no moon.

  Ana shivered and took a step. She glanced to her left, kept to the shadows, and darted along, her small frame nothing more than a blur as she sped forward, following the scent of the demon.

  Less than a minute later she stared up at another large brick building. It was nondescript, save for the garish neon sign above it.

  Club Doom.

  Ana hesitated. She knew in any other circumstance, she’d wait for backup. That running headlong into a situation without knowing the details was stupid.

  Yet what other choice did she have? There was no backup plan, no fucking unit
at her command. She was it.

  A tall woman strolled along the opposite sidewalk, bopping her head in time to the beat that fell from the windows above. She was dressed in vintage clothing, Victorian from the looks of it. Her small waist was cinched tightly with a corset, though the boots that peeked from under her long skirt didn’t exactly complement the dress; they looked military and were covered in mud.

  The woman paused and her head swiveled around slowly. Ana’s face widened in horror. The eye sockets were empty, the lips blackened and thin. She thought she saw maggots twisting in the corners. The woman turned, opened the door, and passed through.

  Ana didn’t hesitate and was there in a second, her fingers clutching the edge of the door, preventing it from shutting. The music was loud, aggressive, and the swell of voices rose sharply.

  Ana yanked on the door and entered Club Doom.

  Chapter 19

  Declan downed a shot of Brimstone Fire and slammed the glass onto the bar. He’d been sitting in the shadows for hours but the frenetic energy that sizzled in the air had finally lured him out.

  The music was loud, heavy. He glanced at the stage in wonder. Derrak Dragon had OD’d nearly a decade ago, heroin being the culprit. He’d fronted one of the most memorable punk rock acts in the world.

  Now he performed six nights a week in Hell. Un-fucking-believable.

  The bartender grunted and Declan indicated another shot was in order. He turned, leaned against the bar, and perused the chaotic scene before him. The place was packed, full of the souls of the damned, demons of all ranks, and a smattering of otherworld beings that for whatever reason had ended up in District One, top surface, Hell.

  Hundreds of bodies writhed and moved to the aggressive beat, feeding off the darkness that permeated the air. Several couples were having sex, their bodies rocking together, uncaring of where they were—only interested in the pleasure of the moment.

  He downed his second shot and hissed as the fire wove into his gut. A tall, leggy blonde broke from the crowd and walked toward him. She was demon; her eyes burned a vibrant orange as she smiled at him. Her voluptuous body was draped head-to-toe in black leather, though the corset she wore left her breasts bare.