were shattered yellow stubs.
He swallowed and coughed again, preparing to speak. Maybe the dry, horrible air would help with his accent. “I think we have a misunderstanding,” James said in his very best attempt at the infernal tongue. Neither of the demons acknowledged that he had spoken.
Hannah edged toward him. “What are they saying?”
James leaned to the side, partially shielding her body from their view with his shoulders. “I think they’re trying to decide what to do with us.”
“ Goha ?” said the brute. It sounded more like a wet cough than a word.
The nightmare gave a dismissive wave of its skeletal hand and responded in its more refined dialect, “I don’t need that one. Sell her.”
James hadn’t researched infernal culture beyond what he needed to know for his studies in magic, but he knew that humans were numerous in Hell. And they were almost entirely used as slaves or for food.
Sell her.
He got onto his knees as the squat demon reached a three-fingered hand inside the enclosure. “Don’t touch her!” James said. He didn’t bother trying to speak the infernal tongue. They weren’t listening anyway.
Hannah gasped and slid back, but the demon’s meaty hand closed on her ankle. Her skirt slid up her hips as the demon dragged her into the street.
James lunged after her, jumping out of the back of the vehicle they had been riding in.
His feet connected with the red concrete, and a dizzying wave of energy swept over him, as though centuries of ancient magic shocked through his bones. Earth became sky, the buildings tipped underneath him, and he felt like he was going to fall into the dust-clouded air.
Hannah was shrieking, but he couldn’t see her through his blurred vision. His fingers brushed hers, then slipped. His eyes cleared in time to see the brute wrapping Hannah in a tight embrace, hauling her off of her feet, and dragging her toward the milling crowd.
“No!” he yelled.
The nightmare swung. Its fist struck James’s face, and stars flashed in his vision.
Between the multiple blows and the strange swells of arcane magic, James couldn’t keep his footing. He slipped. Staggered. Flung his hands out to catch himself, and failed. His side hit the concrete. He glimpsed the vehicle that he and Hannah had been transported in—an old, dirty pickup truck that had patches of leather covering holes in the metal—and then his gaze focused on what lay beyond it.
The spires of the Palace jutted into the sky, shining with glass panels and iron arches. The truck was waiting at the elaborate gates separating the demonic city from the Palace itself.
The nightmare was taking James to the Council.
His stomach pitched, and he tried to get to his feet. “Hannah!”
James’s captor drove a knee into his gut, and all the breath rushed out of his lungs. “Easy money,” laughed the nightmare as it tossed James into the back of the truck again.
He heard the door close and latch again, leaving him on the inside, and Hannah on the outside with the riot.
“James!” she screamed, her voice distant in the crowd.
He slammed his fists against the door. The wood rattled, but held strong. The vehicle shifted underneath him as it began to move again, making the bars of harsh light slide across the floor once more.
Then he was inside the gates, and all light vanished.
J ames wasn’t given enough time in the truck to plot his escape before it stopped again. The back gate opened, and the nightmare blindfolded him before he could see where he had been taken. A cloth was shoved into his mouth and bound with a leather strap. The material tasted like sweat and dust, and he gagged on it.
“Let’s move,” the nightmare said. Its hands dug into his arms as it pushed him forward. He tried to grunt a protest, but he couldn’t speak around the gag. All he could do was walk.
Although James couldn’t see where he was being taken, he could gather some clues from his other senses. The sound of the
He swallowed and coughed again, preparing to speak. Maybe the dry, horrible air would help with his accent. “I think we have a misunderstanding,” James said in his very best attempt at the infernal tongue. Neither of the demons acknowledged that he had spoken.
Hannah edged toward him. “What are they saying?”
James leaned to the side, partially shielding her body from their view with his shoulders. “I think they’re trying to decide what to do with us.”
“ Goha ?” said the brute. It sounded more like a wet cough than a word.
The nightmare gave a dismissive wave of its skeletal hand and responded in its more refined dialect, “I don’t need that one. Sell her.”
James hadn’t researched infernal culture beyond what he needed to know for his studies in magic, but he knew that humans were numerous in Hell. And they were almost entirely used as slaves or for food.
Sell her.
He got onto his knees as the squat demon reached a three-fingered hand inside the enclosure. “Don’t touch her!” James said. He didn’t bother trying to speak the infernal tongue. They weren’t listening anyway.
Hannah gasped and slid back, but the demon’s meaty hand closed on her ankle. Her skirt slid up her hips as the demon dragged her into the street.
James lunged after her, jumping out of the back of the vehicle they had been riding in.
His feet connected with the red concrete, and a dizzying wave of energy swept over him, as though centuries of ancient magic shocked through his bones. Earth became sky, the buildings tipped underneath him, and he felt like he was going to fall into the dust-clouded air.
Hannah was shrieking, but he couldn’t see her through his blurred vision. His fingers brushed hers, then slipped. His eyes cleared in time to see the brute wrapping Hannah in a tight embrace, hauling her off of her feet, and dragging her toward the milling crowd.
“No!” he yelled.
The nightmare swung. Its fist struck James’s face, and stars flashed in his vision.
Between the multiple blows and the strange swells of arcane magic, James couldn’t keep his footing. He slipped. Staggered. Flung his hands out to catch himself, and failed. His side hit the concrete. He glimpsed the vehicle that he and Hannah had been transported in—an old, dirty pickup truck that had patches of leather covering holes in the metal—and then his gaze focused on what lay beyond it.
The spires of the Palace jutted into the sky, shining with glass panels and iron arches. The truck was waiting at the elaborate gates separating the demonic city from the Palace itself.
The nightmare was taking James to the Council.
His stomach pitched, and he tried to get to his feet. “Hannah!”
James’s captor drove a knee into his gut, and all the breath rushed out of his lungs. “Easy money,” laughed the nightmare as it tossed James into the back of the truck again.
He heard the door close and latch again, leaving him on the inside, and Hannah on the outside with the riot.
“James!” she screamed, her voice distant in the crowd.
He slammed his fists against the door. The wood rattled, but held strong. The vehicle shifted underneath him as it began to move again, making the bars of harsh light slide across the floor once more.
Then he was inside the gates, and all light vanished.
J ames wasn’t given enough time in the truck to plot his escape before it stopped again. The back gate opened, and the nightmare blindfolded him before he could see where he had been taken. A cloth was shoved into his mouth and bound with a leather strap. The material tasted like sweat and dust, and he gagged on it.
“Let’s move,” the nightmare said. Its hands dug into his arms as it pushed him forward. He tried to grunt a protest, but he couldn’t speak around the gag. All he could do was walk.
Although James couldn’t see where he was being taken, he could gather some clues from his other senses. The sound of the
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