Chapter 4
Lynx
There’s a girl. A human girl. And she’s lying dead at my feet. Beside her on the floor are symbols drawn with chalk. So she summoned me. This wasn’t an accident. She meant to bring me here.
Her odd black-and-white hair is splayed out on the rug, her head twisted at an unnatural angle. Some silver strands hide her face.
Her clothes are strange. Nothing like the rags I used to see on people like her once upon a time.
Decades ago, actually. It’s been far too long since I’ve left Hell.
Am I back on Earth? I take a deep breath and nearly choke on the unfamiliarity.
There are no flames, no embers floating around and clogging my throat; there’s no heat.
I’m not screwing my eyes shut every time someone drops into the pit with an explosion.
This is Earth.
Has my curse ended?
Unfamiliar excitement pushes me forward. I step over the dead girl, looking around the room for any indication of what’s going on but hesitate before exiting.
Fuck, I didn’t kill a child, did I? I may be from Hell, but I’m no monster.
Crouching, I reach over and move the black-and-white strands from her face, momentarily taken aback by her looks. I shake off the immature emotion and let the strands fall back over her face.
Not a child.
But maybe in her early twenties. Good. My conscience is clear. A shame she made me kill her.
Wiping away the feeling of her on my clothing, I fix the cuffs of my shirt, give her a last once-over so I’m certain she’s definitely dead, and step out of the room.
The place is filthy. Dust clings to the walls and the large chandelier; some of the windows are boarded up, glass smashed across the floor.
I step over the clumps of rat turds and grimace at the smell as I push open another door to find yet another filthy room covered in cobwebs, dirt, and dust, with peeling wallpaper and holes in the wall.
Why the fuck am I here? Where exactly is here?
I take the steps of the grand staircase two at a time, walk around the corner, and hunt for another portal—a glowing red crack in reality, or a glitch in the room.
The more rooms I check—and recheck—in this godforsaken mansion, the more convinced I am that I might really be free of Hell, but I refuse to entertain that thought unless it’s true, given that I still feel demon magic flowing through me.
I lost hope many years ago. It’s a meaningless word that needs to stay the fuck away from my vocabulary and thoughts.
The darkness welcomes me as I push open the door to what I can only assume is a kitchen. It creaks as one of the hinges comes undone, then the door falls onto the floor. Dust smacks me in the face.
“Motherfucker,” I say through a cough. “Are you dragging me back?” I call out to the portal keeper. “She’s dead.”
Still nothing, and I sigh, brushing off my sleeves.
A creaking floorboard on the first floor has me narrowing my eyes, but I shake off the need to go toward it, and search the premises instead.
My gaze lands on a chained-up door. One tug and the chains are on the floor, the clanking echoing around the eerie mansion.
Steps lead me to a tunnel, and after being trapped in Hell for far too long, my eyes adjust to the darkness faster than they ever did when I was a human.
When I was alive, with a beating heart and a soul and a life.
I tut at my thoughts. “Focus, asshole,” I say to myself. If Tony were here, the wimp would be hiding behind me. Unless he was transformed—then he’d take the lead.
The tunnel carries me beyond the manor, I think—and maybe hope does exist because the ground hasn’t burst into flames and devoured me yet.
I pause when I see the door at the other end. It would take me five steps to reach it; however, on my third step, everything ripples around me, pressure builds behind my eyes, and I hold my breath as my lungs are squeezed.
A soft groan has me opening my eyes.
It takes several moments for me to make sense of my surroundings.
I’m in the room where I was summoned.
The human—the very not dead human—is sitting up, hair pointing in every direction as I stop beneath the doorframe. Her back is to me as she slowly rolls her head from side to side.
I internally sigh as she winces. It takes several more seconds before she presses her hand to her neck—right where I snapped it.
She should be dead. Why the fuck isn’t she?
I didn’t ask to be here—I have no reason to be. The last time I came across someone as innocent looking as her was several lifetimes ago, when I was human and most definitely not mixing with hellhounds and the most vile, evil creatures known to the world.
It’s throwing me off that she doesn’t smell like death.
Hmm.
Do I snap her neck again to make sure, or is she a demon in disguise and this is all one big test or trick, and I’m actually still in Hell?
My eyes dart to the body beside her.
Ah. I see what this is now.
She groans, and the sound punches me in the gut. Why did that sound so h—
Focus.
Her body very languidly turns toward me, her attention drawn by the annoyed sound leaving my throat. For a long second, her eyes stray down my immortal body, which towers over her, impossibly tall—thanks to death and the curse and all—before her lips part.
But no words come out.
I raise a brow, waiting, but I’m still met with silence. Not even her dull, ghostly beating heart can fill the quiet surrounding us.
“What’s happening?” she finally asks, her voice surprisingly soft.
“You’re dead,” I say bluntly, turning away to leave her staring blankly at her hands.
“How can I be dead?” she rasps, making me pause.
I roll my eyes and face her again. “It’s simple,” I reply, closing the distance between us. That fragile little neck of hers cracks with barely any force. “Just like that.”
Her body drops again, crumpling to the floor, her face in full view this time. I tilt my head, acknowledging that if she were in Hell, I’d fuck her. “How unfortunate. You’re too pretty to be a pile of flesh and bones.”
Too bad my soul has been ripped to shreds after years of torture—there’s no hint of humanity left for a girl who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Stay dead this time,” I huff, leaving the room and following the path I took earlier.
Only this time, I head for the foyer and shove open the big, creaking doors, welcoming the outside air as my feet carry me down the steps. Trepidation and exhilaration have me walking faster, toward the forest up ahead.
There must be a mistake because my old boss cursed me to suffer in Hell for eternity.
I shouldn’t have escaped. I should’ve been sucked back into the flames by now, or the Tor’Oths should’ve come for me, but the more time passes, the more I wonder…
Did my curse break? Am I no longer bound to Hell? Can I find Dylan now?
I’m not sure how much time has passed in the real world because time works differently in Hell. Dylan might still be out there, and if he is, then I’m going to find him, apologize for breaking my promise, and make it up to him for leaving.
I barely remember the way he used to struggle to say my name, how he’d cry when his stomach was empty, how he needed me to tell him stories so he could fall asleep.
I inhale lungfuls of clean, crisp night air. It’s odd not to taste ash in the back of my throat or feel the blistering heat against my skin.
My foot is hovering above the ground, mid-step, when everything morphs around me once more. Dizziness takes over, the skies vanish, and I walk into the room with the dead girl again.
“Oh, fuck off,” I grumble, seeing her sitting up once more.