Chapter 24 Eden #3
“I don't have any!” I lie, the words coming out in a frantic, high-pitched rush. “I had them taken out years ago. They're gone. Empty sockets. Nothing but gums back there.”
He lets out a low, dangerous growl, his hand hovering near my jawline. But, I reel my head backwards—there’s not a single chance I’m letting him perform amateur dentistry on me in literal Hell.
“Useless. Absolutely useless. I have a blood-bound mortal with no bribe-material and a fucking cat.” His fangs dig into his bottom lip. His mind’s clearly whirring through a list of equally terrible options. “Fine. If we can't pay the toll in bone, we’ll have to pay it in something else.”
Before I can ask what ‘something else’ entails, he’s dragging me again, pulling me away from the safety of the shadows, down a series of corridors, and toward a set of massive, rust-colored gates that look like they were forged from the wreckage of a thousand nightmares.
The two, easily eight feet tall guards standing watch are enough to make my heart stop, and as we approach, they turn in unison, their heavy polearms clattering against the stone.
Holy fuck…
Their skin’s the texture of cracked rhino hide, grey and thick. Massive yellowed tusks curl up from their lower jaws, and they’re clad in dented metal armor that looks like it was bolted directly into their flesh.
“YOU.” The one on the left growls like an earthquake. “Do you have any idea how much shit we got in after your little stunt? Our Overseer nearly had our hides for rugs!”
Malachi’s posture smooths out into something terrifyingly charming as he leans back slightly, rocking on his heels, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
“Now, now, gentlemen,” he purrs, voice smooth as silk. “There’s no need for that sort of aggression. Especially when there’s a lady present.”
Both guards look down at me at the same time with red, wet eyes. They squint, sniffing the air, their massive nostrils fluttering.
Oh, I want to be sick.
“Who is that?” the one on the left rumbles, pointing a thick, scarred finger at my chest. “It looks... soft. And it smells like… what the fuck is that?”
“She's a Dreg,” Malachi says, his voice dripping with effortless boredom. “From the Eleventh Divisions. I’m experimenting with local livestock costumes for a reconnaissance mission.”
A Dreg? As in the bitter, gritty remains at the bottom of a cup of tea. The stuff you pour down the sink because it’s too gross to swallow? I want to kick his silver shins, but I’m too busy trying to look ‘appropriately soul-crushed’ while not pissing my pants on the spot.
“Liar,” the one on the right rumbles. “We didn’t let anyone like her in. We’re reporting you right now, Malachi.”
“And what exactly will you gain from that?” Malachi asks, taking a casual step forward, completely unbothered by the weapons pointed in his direction.
“Think about it. Are they going to give you a bonus? A promotion to the inner circles? Will they give you time off from this drafty, miserable gate? Would they even bother to say thank you?”
The two guards pause, looking at each other. A slow, dull-witted grumble starts in the one on the right’s throat. “Probably just give us extra shifts for our 'negligence,' in the first place,” he mutters, his massive shoulders slouching.
“Exactly,” Malachi says, snake-like pupils contracting with barely-hidden glee. “The system is rigged against the hard-working demon, isn't it? But me? I’m much more appreciative of your... discretion.”
The one of the left shifts his weight, the metal plates of his armor screeching. “Appreciation doesn't fill the gut, though. What do we get out of it this time?”
Malachi’s smile sharpens into something predatory as he takes a half-step closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
“Truth be told, I am short on calcium. But I am very long on secrets. For instance, I know for a fact that you, Grath, have been spending your breaks in the HR archives. And it isn't to file paperwork. If your Overseer found out you were fraternizing with a Succubus from that floor, it would be a scandal. But if your wife found out?” He tilts his head, clicking his tongue. “Well, I imagine she’d find a way to make your immortality feel very, very short.”
The one who I’m assuming is Grath freezes. His rhino-hide skin actually seems to pale, turning a sickly shade of grey-green. “You... you wouldn't,” he stammers, the polearm trembling in his grip.
“You didn't think I’d jump through to the mortal realm either, did you?” Malachi’s voice is a whip-crack, sharp enough to draw blood. “But I did that. I am a man of extremes, Grath. Don't test which version of me you're talking to right now.”
A long, tense silence stretches between them, thick enough to choke on, broken only by a muffled, high-pitched mew from my handbag. My heart stops, but Malachi lets out a sudden, chest-racking cough that sounds like a boulder being put through a woodchipper.
“Fine,” Grath grumbles, his voice thick with defeat. “Just... take your Dreg and get out of these damn corridors.”
With a groan that vibrates through the soles of my unlaced boots, the two giants lean into the gates. They swing open just wide enough for us to slip through, revealing another corridor of obsidian that seems to pulse with a low, heartbeat-like thud.
“Where are we going?” I gasp, my boots slipping on the slick, black stone as I struggle to keep up with his sudden, predatory pace.
“The Old Sector,” he throws over his shoulder, his voice echoing off the narrow walls. “It’s a slum, but we need to ditch the house-beast before we do anything else, and I have an old acquaintance who owes me a debt from the Great Burning.”
I don’t even want to know what the Great Burning was, and there’s no way I’m leaving Vesper in the hands of some demon.
“Malachi, wait—”
“Listen to me,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the path ahead, forcing me into a half-jog.
“This isn't your world, Eden. It is crueler, louder, and it lacks the polite fictions you mortals use to keep from screaming. But at its core? It’s just another city of appetites. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. Can you manage that?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay, Eden, act demonic. This is it. This is Hell.
“I can,” I whisper.