his name was?”
T he ground shifted and swayed underneath James. He could hear the fluid in his skull swooshing from side to side with every motion.
For a moment, he was so grateful to have slept without dreaming that he neither remembered nor cared what had happened to him. It had been days since he’d been able to close his eyes without seeing Elise’s cold, bloodless face on the other side. But the smell of sulfur crept over him, and it was followed by an awareness of his raw nasal passage and his throbbing skull.
Memory returned all at once.
James was in Hell.
He tongued the wound on the side of his mouth. The skin was sticky—he had been bleeding profusely—but it had already clotted and dried into a caked mass on his cheek. The injury must have been hours old.
Forcing his eyes open, he saw a pair of feet. Dainty black loafers. Ankles bound with leather cord.
Hannah.
His blurry gaze traveled up her feet to her knees, and then her face. Hannah was unconscious. Her wrists were tied in front of her, and her skin and clothing were covered in a layer of red dust.
He tried to say her name, but his tongue wouldn’t articulate words. It stuck to his dry lips.
James swallowed, coughed, and cleared his throat. “Hannah?” His voice came out as a croak. The air tasted sulfuric and bitter.
She didn’t respond.
He relaxed into the swaying motion of the floor. It was grainy—some kind of rough reddish wood, although not a wood that he was familiar with. The floor was throbbing. It sounded like wind was rushing outside. Hard orange light shot through the gaps between boards so brightly that it made his eyeballs ache. James’s shirt and slacks were as dusty as Hannah’s, as if he had been rolling around on the surface of Mars.
He assumed that his stiff, unmoving arms meant that he was tied, too, but he felt so strange and disconnected from his own flesh that he couldn’t tell.
James rolled onto his stomach with a groan. Wriggling closer to the wall, he pressed one eye to a slit between two boards.
Whatever he was in, it wasn’t a ship. There were buildings passing by, and the doors and shop fronts resembled the slums of Dubai. A strange language was scrawled across the walls in red-brown paint, but it was gone before he could try to decipher the language.
Dark forms slipped into view and out again. People walking past his transport.
But not humans.
James’s scalp itched and crawled as his stomach knotted. The feelings swelled and then subsided every time he passed another pedestrian. It wasn’t nausea from his head injury—it was the feeling that he got from demons.
He was still in Hell. And judging by the fences, the cement paths, and the iron trees that he glimpsed, he had been taken into the City of Dis.
There were shouts in a foreign tongue, and an explosion thudded in the distance. He squinted through the sliver in time to see a squat creature with a smashed face throw something at his transport.
Something thudded against the other side of the wood, making the entire vehicle shake. James jerked away.
Hannah sat up and pushed her hair out of her face with both hands. The right side of her face was swelling. “Where are we?” She sounded as raw as he felt.
“We’re in Dis.”
“We can’t be in Dis. I have to get home. Nathaniel—”
“It’s better for him to be there than here.” James started wriggling, trying to free his wrists from their bindings behind his back. Every little motion hurt. “But trust me when I say this isn’t my first choice of vacation spot, either.”
“How can you be joking at a time like this?”
He didn’t respond. Of all the things that he had been through with Elise—being sacrificed and possessed by a powerful demon, the threat of apocalypse, and delving deep into infernal undercities—falling into Hell was just one more episode in his miserable life.
But Hannah had barely been outside Colorado, much less to another dimension. She had certainly
T he ground shifted and swayed underneath James. He could hear the fluid in his skull swooshing from side to side with every motion.
For a moment, he was so grateful to have slept without dreaming that he neither remembered nor cared what had happened to him. It had been days since he’d been able to close his eyes without seeing Elise’s cold, bloodless face on the other side. But the smell of sulfur crept over him, and it was followed by an awareness of his raw nasal passage and his throbbing skull.
Memory returned all at once.
James was in Hell.
He tongued the wound on the side of his mouth. The skin was sticky—he had been bleeding profusely—but it had already clotted and dried into a caked mass on his cheek. The injury must have been hours old.
Forcing his eyes open, he saw a pair of feet. Dainty black loafers. Ankles bound with leather cord.
Hannah.
His blurry gaze traveled up her feet to her knees, and then her face. Hannah was unconscious. Her wrists were tied in front of her, and her skin and clothing were covered in a layer of red dust.
He tried to say her name, but his tongue wouldn’t articulate words. It stuck to his dry lips.
James swallowed, coughed, and cleared his throat. “Hannah?” His voice came out as a croak. The air tasted sulfuric and bitter.
She didn’t respond.
He relaxed into the swaying motion of the floor. It was grainy—some kind of rough reddish wood, although not a wood that he was familiar with. The floor was throbbing. It sounded like wind was rushing outside. Hard orange light shot through the gaps between boards so brightly that it made his eyeballs ache. James’s shirt and slacks were as dusty as Hannah’s, as if he had been rolling around on the surface of Mars.
He assumed that his stiff, unmoving arms meant that he was tied, too, but he felt so strange and disconnected from his own flesh that he couldn’t tell.
James rolled onto his stomach with a groan. Wriggling closer to the wall, he pressed one eye to a slit between two boards.
Whatever he was in, it wasn’t a ship. There were buildings passing by, and the doors and shop fronts resembled the slums of Dubai. A strange language was scrawled across the walls in red-brown paint, but it was gone before he could try to decipher the language.
Dark forms slipped into view and out again. People walking past his transport.
But not humans.
James’s scalp itched and crawled as his stomach knotted. The feelings swelled and then subsided every time he passed another pedestrian. It wasn’t nausea from his head injury—it was the feeling that he got from demons.
He was still in Hell. And judging by the fences, the cement paths, and the iron trees that he glimpsed, he had been taken into the City of Dis.
There were shouts in a foreign tongue, and an explosion thudded in the distance. He squinted through the sliver in time to see a squat creature with a smashed face throw something at his transport.
Something thudded against the other side of the wood, making the entire vehicle shake. James jerked away.
Hannah sat up and pushed her hair out of her face with both hands. The right side of her face was swelling. “Where are we?” She sounded as raw as he felt.
“We’re in Dis.”
“We can’t be in Dis. I have to get home. Nathaniel—”
“It’s better for him to be there than here.” James started wriggling, trying to free his wrists from their bindings behind his back. Every little motion hurt. “But trust me when I say this isn’t my first choice of vacation spot, either.”
“How can you be joking at a time like this?”
He didn’t respond. Of all the things that he had been through with Elise—being sacrificed and possessed by a powerful demon, the threat of apocalypse, and delving deep into infernal undercities—falling into Hell was just one more episode in his miserable life.
But Hannah had barely been outside Colorado, much less to another dimension. She had certainly
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