Hell in a Handbasket Read online

  I throw myself toward the front of the cave, running for the exit, but the crow is suddenly there, wings spread wide and claws reaching for me, so I whirl around and sprint back into the darkness.

  Please, please, please let there be another way out!

  “Go! Go! Goooo!” The relics sing, but the distance grows between us, and the music fades into eerie silence. Blindly, I run, stumbling over rocks and sticks and who knows what else.

  My heart pounds as my feet shove against the ground, but I don’t dare stop. Another monstrous roar fills the cave, the thunderous sound reverberating off the stone and hitting me from all directions. There’s nothing I can do but plunge further into the unknown.

  Chapter Two

  Elias

  The hardwood creaks beneath my rushed steps as I burst into the library.

  “Sonofabitch, I’m going to murder that dragon!” I snarl, my breaths racing, fists clenching. “He’s not at his store, home, or even the damn pigeon fancier’s club he hangs out at. I’ve been searching all day.”

  Cain stands over a map laid out on the table, staring at it. He doesn’t even look up as I stalk closer, but I can see the shadows under his eyes and that his muscles are tense. The last time I saw him so closed off and focused was just before we tried to usurp his father, Lucifer, from his throne in Hell.

  Dorian is pacing in front of the fireplace. “I’ve made calls all over town. Even in our contacts in Storm. Nothing.”

  “He’s in the mountains,” Cain says suddenly, lifting his head. His sudden break from silence startles us both, and we hurry over to his side.

  “Of course he is,” Dorian huffs, running a hand over his mouth. “Where else would a fucking dragon go to hide?”

  “The entire town is surrounded by woodlands and mountains. Miles upon miles of it.” I know because I’ve run through most of it during our time here on Earth. “What do you expect us to do? Searching on foot will take days. Weeks.”

  Dorian shakes his head. “We can hire a plane and fly over it to cover more ground. At least until we find anything remotely resembling a dragon’s hiding spot.” The corded muscles in his neck flex as he speaks through his rapid thoughts. “We must do whatever it takes to get back the harp’s pieces and Aria.”

  That sounded more like a plan to me. It was certainly the faster option, but still might not be fast enough. “One thing we can bet on is that he isn’t going to be in plain sight. He’ll need lots of coverage to hide what he is, otherwise we would’ve heard there was a damn dragon flying through our territory.”

  “That still doesn’t narrow it down to any specific area,” Dorian replies. “With Vermont’s thick forests and mountains, it’s prime real estate for a dragon.”

  “Dorian, bring the car to the front.” Again, Cain’s voice surprises us.

  “Oh?” he asks.

  Cain lifts his chin, glancing between the two of us, and his gaze darkens. He’s got an idea. “We’re taking a trip to Storm’s markets.”

  Without questioning it, Dorian strides out of the room. His booming command echoes down the hall. “Sadie! We’re going for a drive!”

  The sound of the young maid’s hurried footsteps follows.

  As Cain walks past me, I snatch his arm to draw him to a stop.

  I expect him to fight or scold me for touching him, but instead, he looks at me and says, “I know. We’ll get her back.” Like he can read my mind.

  “And the collector?” Just the thought of him makes a growl vibrate up my throat.

  Cain’s jaw tightens. “We’ll wear his scales as armor through Hell’s gates.”

  The hellhound inside me likes the sound of that.

  I let him go and follow as he walks out of the library. The front foyer is still damaged from our earlier cross with the werewolves. The bodies have been removed by our staff, but the signs of battle remain. Broken vases. Holes in the walls. Blood stains on the staircase and banister.

  It feels like days since Aria was taken from us, not just a matter of hours. But she’s never left my thoughts. Her being here was supposed to just be another business transaction for us. Another soul to use or feed from. It shouldn’t bother me that she’s in danger as much as it does, but in the short time the girl’s been with us, she’s managed to imprint on me.

  I grind my teeth as anger lashes at my insides. I can’t believe that scaly creep took her from us.

  More specifically, I can’t believe we failed at saving her. And getting the harp’s pieces back. We never lose.

  I storm after Cain into the front yard, where the day is steadily giving way to night. A black Ferrari pulls up in our driveaway, the tinted window rolling down to reveal Dorian.

  “You want a personal invitation, or are you getting in?” he calls with a playful smile.

  “Why did you bring this car?” I snap as Cain opens the passenger door and pushes the seat back, then looks over to me to get into the back. I already know the answer to the question—he wants to torture me. I hate sports cars. They aren’t built for real men like me.

  “Get in,” Cain says, while Dorian smirks at me.

  I want to drive my fist through his face, but I go ahead and step inside. Squeezing into the back seat is like trying to fit a grizzly bear into a cage. Too tight in all directions and feels like the walls are pressing in. Trapped. Twisting and turning, I try everything to get comfortable, but it’s impossible.

  “All comfy in the back?” Dorian teases.

  “Fuck you.” Growling, I punch the back of his seat. I knew he’d pick it just to piss me off.

  He twists around and glares. “Destroy this beautiful car and you’re replacing it.”

  “Oh, I’ll replace it,” I retort. “With a real car. Not this small-penis car.”

  Dorian bursts out laughing. “If you’re going to insult me, at least do it properly. Guys with small penises are known to get big cars. Like suped-up trucks.”

  I throw another fist into the back of his headrest just as Cain shoves his seat back, whacking it into my shins. I cry out.

  “Enough,” he barks before turning back to Dorian. “Drive.”

  We’re off in seconds, the wheels spinning in the gravel and kicking up rocks. The bumps are tortuous while in the cramped back seat. At least the drive is fast, and once we reach paved road, it’s smoother sailing. I’ll give Dorian that about this shitbox—it moves low to the ground and whips through the streets like wildfire.

  When we get to the painted black umbrella, that marks the stone of the underpass in the heart of the city, Dorian stops the car. A man dressed in rags and sitting in a lawn chair near a tent and shopping cart full of trash bags, glances at us. He may appear to be another homeless fellow using the underpass as a safe place to make camp, but when it comes to Storm, not everything is what it seems.

  To stay hidden from human view, Storm’s entrance is cloaked heavily by magic. It’s located in the underbelly of Glenside, allowing supernaturals to gather freely, even thrive. Here, supes can be themselves. It’s why most prefer to visit this side of the city. Or Purgatory. There’s no need to pretend to be somebody else. But keeping it a secret from the human world is a challenge. You never know who is really watching, after all.

  Dorian revs his engine three times, and the homeless man—really, the gatekeeper to Storm—stands up. His gaze searches the area for any prying eyes, and when he deems it safe, he turns and knocks on the painted umbrella. The stone face shimmers as the magical barrier gives way, and the ramp leading down into the subterranean level appears on the other side.

  Saluting the hobo to show his thanks, Dorian steps on the gas, and we pass through without issue.

  Another fascinating detail about Storm is that although it’s located underground, it doesn’t look to be. A false sky that mimics the one above is painted above us, again touched by magic. Now it looks like twilight, striped with shades of rose and gold as the fabricated sun sets.

  Dorian guides the Ferrari through the tigh
t streets, wandering aimlessly with no real direction in mind. Cain and I stare out the windows to search for more of the painted umbrellas. Following them is the only way to find the market’s location, since it’s never in the same place twice.

  “There,” Cain says, pointing to a building on our right. Partially hidden behind a dumpster is the familiar black umbrella painted on the brick. Dorian turns down the small alleyway.

  Cain points ahead of us again, to another umbrella on a closed storefront window. Dorian whips the car left, onto another main street. We follow the umbrella breadcrumbs until they lead us into a dark lot with only one other car parked under a flickering streetlight.

  This is it.

  My skin crawls with anxiousness. I’m ready to get this over with. Better yet, I’m more than ready to get out of this fucking car. The second the car stops, I reach past Cain, rip the handle back, and fling open the door. He takes his time getting out, but once I can, I force myself through the small space so I can stand on my own two feet again.

  Outside, I draw in a deep breath and lift my arms high to stretch out my tight muscles. Bones crack, but I’m instantly flooded with relief.

  Cain’s already walking toward a dilapidated old office building that’s attached to the parking lot, Dorian on his heels. I slap the car door behind me shut with my foot and catch up. The market isn’t like your typical mall or swap-meet. It offers everything from human bones for spells to rare berries only grown in Botswana. Forbidden things. Rare things. Extremely powerful things. And if it’s not goods you seek, the place is also packed with services. Witches, healers, apothecaries, even whores… all at your service, one way or another.

  So, as any intelligent person may have guessed, Dorian comes here more than the rest of us.

  As we reach the building’s door, he takes the lead and shoulders the crooked thing open. The rusted hinges whine loudly, but as we step through, we’re instantly hit with the sights, sounds, and smells of the ocean. We’ve been transported to another place entirely. And by the sounds of seagulls cawing, the feel of salt and sand on the breeze, and the ceiling of wooden boards above our heads, it looks like we’re now under a boardwalk by the sea.

  It’s been a while since I came here last, but besides the location hocus pocus, not much has changed. The place is bustling with activity. Tables are set up at stalls in half a dozen long rows. Merchants of all shapes, sizes, and supernatural flavors sell wares and food with just as much diversity. It's a mish-mash of unique sights and smells. Something delicious tickles my nose, and I turn to see shish-kebabed lizards on rotisserie at a nearby stand. My stomach clenches with hunger.

  My gaze sweeps the market, and I take notice of the guards posted throughout the place. Mostly shifters, from the looks of it. As one myself, it makes it easier to spot my own kind, even if I'm not exactly from this world. They must've caught our scent or spotted us coming in, because their yellow eyes land on us. I snarl and look away, an animal's way of telling them we want no trouble. If they're smart, they'll understand the cues and leave us alone. Although, I'm not opposed to releasing some anger for the hell of it.

  When Dorian walks down a row of vendors, Cain and I follow. Bodies cram into every space, bumping into us. People shout their sales, and I'm quickly reminded of why I don’t come here often. I loathe crowds.

  The quicker we get this done, the better.

  As we walk, some supes notice us. I catch their sideways glances, the glares, the terror… Demons are not popular with the locals, for obvious reasons. We barter for and eat souls. We're feared.

  I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking for, exactly, but I keep an eye out for any witches or warlocks selling anything that could be helpful in tracking a person. Maybe some kind of location spell or totem or… hell if I know. Something.

  As we stroll through the crowd, Cain and Dorian split, eventually going their own way and leaving me on my own. People press in around me, some treading on my feet, nudging me to get past. Fuck, I hate this.

  “Magic amulet,” a man with a strong Mediterranean accent calls out.

  I turn instantly to my right where a small horde of customers has gathered around a merchant. Standing on top of a crate to be seen, he holds a leather cord with a bronze piece of jewelry dangling from it. It reminds me of a coin by its circular shape and size, but I’m too far away to see the markings on its face.

  “This is the last one of its kind,” the man calls out. “The Amulet of Truth will answer yes or no when asked a question by the wearer. This rare piece will never be offered again. Who wants it?”

  I pause, my interest piquing. An Amulet of Truth... We could use that to help track down the dragon.

  I shove forward, forcing my way through the throng of people, and call out, “I’ll take it!”

  At the same time, a bulky orc pushes his way to the front and snatches the amulet from the man’s hand.

  “Mine! It’s mine,” he snarls. His upper lip curls back over yellow teeth, his tusks dripping in saliva.

  Fury rises in me. That green monkey pushed in!

  “Don't waste your time.” Dorian's beside me suddenly, his whisper like a bee’s buzz in my ear. “It’s a hoax.”

  “But what if it can help us?” I step closer, my gaze pinned on the orc palming what is rightfully mine.

  “Everyone knows that vendor is a charlatan. The amulet’s no different than a magic 8-ball. Or scrap metal.”

  The orc’s lips split in a grin that makes fury burn through my veins.

  “I claimed it first,” I growl at him, drawing the crowd’s attention. “Give it up.”

  The orc’s nose wrinkles with disgust. “Not a fucking chance, demon scum.” Spit splatters all over my face as he talks.

  I lurch forward, rage blurring my vision, but Dorian’s hand is quick on my chest to stop me. My mouth runs free, though. “You say something, asshat?”

  The vendor looks more than pleased by the exchange. Especially by how much attention we’re getting now. “Now, now gentlemen,” he says gently, “we can settle this with a good old-fashioned bidding war. Do I hear five hundred dollars?”

  Dorian huffs. “For a piece of junk? You’re out of your fucking mind.”

  The orc presses closer, spreads his legs, and squares his shoulders. In both the animal world and the human one, there’s only one way to interpret his stance—he’s challenging me. It’ll be the last mistake he ever makes.

  “No one wants your fucking kind here,” he shouts at me and Dorian. Behind him, two of his buddies emerge from the crowd, all green, bumpy skin and bald heads. I’m tall, but these ugly bastards have a few inches on me, their domes almost hitting the boards above us.

  I crack my neck and raise my fists. I’ve never taken on three orcs at once before, but I do enjoy a challenge. This is going to be fun.

  Smiling, the orc swings the amulet by the leather cord just to taunt me. I lean forward again, ready to knock his teeth in.

  “Elias.” Dorian’s hand is still a firm pressure on my chest. His tone is tinged with warning. “I know it’s usually Cain’s job to be the voice of reason, but we’re here for a specific reason, and there’s limited time.”

  “That’s it. Listen to your boyfriend,” the orc taunts.

  My hellhound growls in my chest, the sound reverberating through me.

  At the comment, Dorian turns and feigns repulsion at the sight of the creatures, covering his mouth with his hand. To really sell it, he swallows pretend vomit and grimaces. “Holy shit. You’re so ugly, I almost lost my lunch. Phew, and that smell! Vile!”

  One of the orcs, the shortest one of the three, bares his rotting teeth in a snarl. “Filthy demons. Crawl back to Hell where you belong.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dorian puffs out his cheeks again and lurches forward as if he’s about to hurl. “I just… I can’t even hear what you’re saying. I can’t get past how hideous you all are. It’s absolutely nauseating.”

  The orc with the amulet ro
ars, beating his chest. Somewhere behind us, I hear Cain calling us, but I can't make out his words behind the pounding of my heart. All I can focus on is the sick satisfaction I’m going to get out of tearing these bastards apart.

  “Six hundred! I’ll even throw in an elf-made woven scarf,” the merchant shouts but continues to be ignored.

  My anger prickles across my skin, and my animal pushes for release. It doesn’t like to stand down or show weakness when challenged. I never walk away. I have the scars on my body to prove it.

  When the orc takes another threatening step forward, I do too.

  “Practice some self-control, man. Just this once,” Dorian snarls sharply and puts more strength behind his hold. “As much as I would love to pick my teeth with their bones, they aren’t worth our time. Aria. Remember.”

  I hear his words—know they’re true—but the fact that I lost Aria to those werewolves to begin with has left a bad taste in my mouth. The fact that I, a hellhound, can’t even hunt her is the cherry on top of this shit sundae. My pride can’t take another blow. And now, with these orcs taunting me, it’s the third strike. There’s no way I’ll be able to take the higher road, tuck my tail between my legs and take a walk.

  Like I said before, not my thing.

  I am going to pry that amulet out of his dirty, sausage-like fingers, one way or another.

  Chapter Three

  Cain

  I am yards away from the commotion, but through the throng of customers, I can see everything unfurl. For once, Dorian has done the smart thing and is trying to keep Elias from starting a fight instead of joining him like he typically would, but Elias is having none of it. He shoves past him and leaps at the closest orc’s throat, growling like a wild animal. Being a top-heavy creature, the orc stumbles and falls, landing on its back with enough force to shake the ground. In an instant, Elias is punching it repeatedly in the face, blood spurting and bones mashing.