Chapter 8 Cinder
CINDER
Discord lay sleeping on the floor as I slipped out the front door and made my way back into the city. The corpse of the spineless demon still lay in the street near the bar, so I turned in the opposite direction and headed for what I hoped was a quieter part of town.
Hope…
My entire existence, the fate of my coven, of Salem, hell…
maybe of the world…all hinged on that one little word.
My sisters had done well so far. Ash had found my journal, they’d summoned Chaos and Mayhem, and they’d tried to call Discord.
He’d be there now, ending the curse and mending the veil if not for this little snafu.
If I’d known about the amulet, that I’d be stuck here for eternity without it, I might have rethought this adventure. Or not. I honestly thought I’d be in and out quickly, that my sisters never would’ve needed to get involved.
Some High Priestess I’d turned out to be, clinging to the hope that my sisters were accomplishing the task that belonged to me. The hope that I would find my parents, find Hecate, make it out of Hell alive…
Right now, though, the only hope I needed to focus on was that I would find food and supplies and make it back to the safehouse without battling a dozen beasties who had every reason to challenge me.
Because I was about to rob them blind.
I walked two blocks without incident, thankfully. The demons hanging around outside the shops stared. A few whispered as I passed, but with my face covered in blood, my clothes torn, and my hair in knots, I blended in with the riffraff fairly well.
At the end of the third block, I found a massive warehouse-type building with obsidian doors and a glowing sign written in demonic sigils. I hoped it was a welcome sign. Apparently, hope was my brand now.
Straightening my spine and lifting my chin, I strolled inside like I owned the place.
Two cashiers stood stationed at the checkout, the lines of customers stretching ten deep, while a dozen other registers sat empty.
Whiny country music droned from the speakers above, and my boots stuck to the dirty floor, making a squishy sound with each step I took.
“Welcome to Hell,” I muttered as I paced deeper into the store.
I should’ve been used to the “normalness” of the Underworld by now, but I couldn’t help shaking my head as I passed rows and rows of metal shelving units, filled to the brim with everything a demon could need. They had cooking utensils, bath towels, beastie hygiene products, and even board games.
Black signs with glowing sigils marked what I assumed were the prices, and a demon wearing nothing but leggings and pasties on her six breasts handed out samples of some goddess-knew-what-kind of cereal.
I was famished, so I accepted what she offered. She poured a bit of milk into the tiny bowl, and I tipped my head back, dumping it into my mouth. It tasted salty, sweet, and slightly pungent, but the milk cut the bitterness, making it completely palatable.
I paused, my brow furrowing. What kind of animals did they milk in Hell? My gaze slid over the stickers on the woman’s array of areolas, and I cringed. Please don’t tell me I just consumed demon breastmilk.
I kept walking, lest my thoughts spiraled and my stomach lurched. I refused to even think about it. Shudder.
A burly guy with purple-gray scales stood behind a counter in the butcher section.
He wielded a massive cleaver, slamming it onto the carcass of some poor beast, breaking the joints.
The sound of bones cracking made my muscles crawl beneath my skin, so I focused on the clothing section ahead and picked up my pace.
Racks and shelves overflowed with garments in shades of black, red, and blacker black.
I rummaged through their offerings, finding pants and shirts for all kinds of beasties.
For humans? Not so much. I found jeans with four legs, huge sizes that could’ve accommodated three of me, and shirts with the armholes at the waist. The next rack, and the next one, offered much of the same.
I suppose that made sense in this town. The lower-level demons outnumbered the ones with a human form twenty to one.
But there were humanoid beasties here, so there had to be something that would fit.
I made my way to the back of the store and found two lonely racks with normal clothes. Well, normal to me, anyway.
I grabbed us both three outfits, some socks, undies, and a pair of boots for Discord since he’d shredded his, and I shoved them into a big leather bag before heading back to the grocery section.
I loaded the bag with stinky bottled water, granola bars, dried meat, and anything else I could find that didn’t require cooking.
With my supplies gathered, I chewed the inside of my cheek and eyed the checkout line. The ten ashmarks in my pocket wouldn’t begin to cover everything we needed, so there was only one thing to do. I had to steal it.
My stomach soured at the thought. Light witches did not steal. It went against our moral code, against the very fiber of our beings. Our magic was a gift, and we only used it for good.
But what other choice did I have? Seriously, if someone wanted to offer another solution to this mess, I’d be all ears. Anyone…? No?
I shuffled forward, joining the line and considering my options.
I could wait here, let the cashier ring me up, and then hope to Hecate I could convince him not to charge me.
But that would take time. Plus, I’d have to convince the demon in line behind me as well, and that would take more vim than I could spare.
I would just have to make a run for it.
“Go ahead. I forgot something.” I stepped out of line and gestured for the woman behind me to move forward. She curled her lip, giving me a once-over before filling in the gap.
I paced toward the exit and stopped at a display of canned mystery meat, pretending to examine it while I figured out my escape plan. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, making my heart rocket into my throat, and I grabbed my knife before spinning toward the culprit.
“Where’s your friend?” the spine ripper from the bar asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
“I ate him…like a mantis. You’d better pray I don’t eat you too.
” I turned on my heel and strode for the exit, but a freaking centaur blocked my path.
The half-man half-horse had black fur on his animal side, and he wore a leather scabbard on his back, the straps crisscrossing over his scarred, muscular chest.
“You gotta pay for that.” He stomped a hoof and crossed his human arms. “Back in line.”
“No. No, I really don’t.” I laid my magic on thick. “I don’t have any money, and I need these supplies to save the realm. It’s better if you let me pass so I can do my job and you can sleep soundly at night.”
He lowered his brow, considering my words. “What do you mean ‘save the realm’?”
“Those damn witches on the other side started summoning demons, and they tore apart the veil. If I don’t fix it soon, Hell will implode. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?” I sent another pulse of magic toward him.
At least, I tried to.
The centaur screwed his mouth over to one side and looked at me like I’d grown six sets of ears. “Back in line or face the consequences.” He flexed his biceps for emphasis.
“You want to let me pass,” I tried again. “I’m your Obe-Wan Kenobi. Your only hope.”
“There’s no hope here.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a crossbow, aiming it at my heart.
Another. Frigging. Crossbow. I had no intention of finding out if his arrows were poison-tipped.
Reaching deep into the core of my being, I called on my fire.
My insides heated, and a surge of power coursed through my veins.
I fisted my hand before uncurling my fingers and gathering a fireball in my palm.
I could feel the crowd forming behind me, the low vibration palpable as they gathered to watch me square off with the centaur.
It looked like I’d be giving them a show. I hurled the ball o’ flames at the beastie’s chest, expecting it to at least burn through his scabbard straps and hurt like hell. But the moment it impacted his chest, it sputtered out like a birthday candle after a wish.
“What the eff?” I shook my hand and called on my fire again. My fingertips sparked, and a tiny flame ignited in my palm.
The centaur laughed and rested his finger on the trigger. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Apparently, it was, but I didn’t have time to ponder my misfiring magic.
Instead, I threw my knife. It circled pommel over tip, heading straight for his chest, but the bastard grabbed it by the blade and threw it to the ground.
Blood poured from his palm, and he glowered, returning his crossbow to the scabbard before cracking his knuckles and stomping his hooves.
Oh, he wanted to fight hand to hand, did he? Well, that seemed unfair. I could barely reach his horsy shoulder on my tippy toes.
Tightening my grip on my soon-to-be-stolen bag, I took two steps backward, but the horde behind me wasn’t having it.
Someone gripped my shoulders, and two sets of hands slammed into my back, shoving me toward the centaur.
They closed in around us, creating a ring and shouting something about blood and tearing off body parts.
I barely heard them over the sound of my pulse whooshing in my ears.
My boots stuck to the dirty floor as I shifted from foot to foot. The centaur reared back, his front hooves kicking at the air, his nostrils flaring with a snort. The crowd pressed closer, moving us farther from the exit, the air thick with the scents of sulfur and sweat.
My body tensed, instincts screaming at me to run, but the circle of spectators would never let me through. The exit stood unguarded behind the centaur, my only hope of escape…but I’d have to make it past him first.