Up in Smoke - Katie MacAlister [102]
Jim thrust its head under it. I grasped its collar, feeling a modicum of reassurance in not going to Abaddon alone.
“Seat backs and trays in an upright position, please,” Aisling said, warding both Jim and me before she made a sweeping gesture that ripped the fabric of time and space. “Have a nice time in Hell.”
“Famous last words,” Jim said as we stepped through.
Gabriel said nothing, but the memory of his face remained with me as we went into the maelstrom that resulted in us falling into darkness.
“You OK, May? Hey, you OK? You hit your head or something?”
Pain from the front of my head ebbed, as did the darkness. I rolled over and found myself looking up the large black nostrils of a Newfoundland. “Yes, I’m all right, and, ow, yes, I hit my head. Oh.” My memory returned as I sat up, blinking away the accompanying dizziness. “Where are we?”
“By the looks of it, some sort of linen closet. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re in the basement of Bael’s palace in Abaddon.”
Gingerly, I felt the knot at the front of my head. “What makes you say that?”
“That,” Jim said, nodding to a clipboard that hung on a nail next to the door of the large walk-in closet.
I got to my feet and examined it. “Palace” headed the top of the paper attached to the clipboard, followed by a summary of linens and textiles. “For some reason, I find it extremely odd that a demon lord would take the time to inventory sheets and towels,” I said, replacing the clipboard.
“He’s the premiere prince. You think they give that job to people who don’t know how to micromanage?” Jim shook its head. “You have a thing or two to learn, sister.”
“Don’t call me that. How long was I out?” I asked, straightening my clothing and opening the door just enough to peek out.
“About three minutes. I heard voices outside, but they left.”
We were speaking in whispers, the silence of Bael’s palace oppressive enough to cause even our whispers to sound reedy and insubstantial. “I don’t see anyone now. Are you sure you know your way around here?”
“Yeah. Been here a couple of times with my old boss, and Ash landed here once or twice, as well. We need to go up to Bael’s dungeon.”
“Up for a dungeon?” I asked as we slipped out of the room and, after listening intently for a few seconds to make sure no one was out there, made our silent way down the dimly lit hallway. “I thought they were normally kept in a basement.”
“If it was down here, then Bael wouldn’t be able to hear the screams of his captives as they’re tortured,” Jim pointed out.
I made a face at that thought, tempted to shadow since the light was dim enough that I might escape being seen should we run into someone, but Jim was highly identifiable. If it was found, Bael would know someone else was with the demon, and the hunt would be on. “Just get us to Chuan Ren.”
We had a few close calls with servants and minions running around as they carried out Bael’s commands, but luck, for a change, was with us, and we found Chuan Ren with only relatively little trouble.
“That’s the only door with a guard. My money is on that one being Chuan Ren’s cell. Ouch. Wrath demon,” Jim whispered as we huddled together peering around a corner at a door in front of which a human-looking guard sat—a huge human-looking guard, one that, were it actually human, would probably be a multimillion-dollar star linebacker.
Jim eyed me as I sank to the ground with an inaudible moan of dismay. “Agathos daimon. A wrath demon.”
“Yeah, nasty business. I don’t suppose you’ve ever dealt with one before?”
I shook my head.
“I hate to say it, but you’re on your own here,” Jim said with sickening cheerfulness. “I might be able to harm a lesser demon, but a wrath? Nuh-uh. Those guys are death on two legs.”
“I know,” I said, thinking frantically while keeping an ear cocked for anyone who might choose to stroll down the corridor in which we crouched.
Wrath demons, for those of you who aren’t bound to a demon lord, are the first lieutenants in a demon lord’s legion of minions. If you think of the worst qualities of various mass murderers,