Hell bent, p.29
Hell Bent, page 29
“I truly don’t know where to begin,” Anselm said, shaking his head like a disappointed dad on a sitcom. “You brought a stranger into Lethe’s dealings, multiple strangers.”
“Tripp Helmuth is a Bonesman,” said Turner, leaning against the wall. “He knows about Lethe.”
Anselm turned cold eyes on him. “I’m well aware of who Tripp Helmuth is, and who his father is, and his grandfather, for that matter. I’m also aware of just what would have happened if he’d been hurt tonight. Are you?”
Turner said nothing.
Alex tried to focus on what Anselm was saying, but she couldn’t think straight. One moment she was ravenous, as if she hadn’t eaten in days, and in the next breath, the world tilted and she wanted to vomit. She was still fighting the wolves. She was still in Hellie’s head, swinging that bat. She was feeling the terrible loss of leaving a world she hadn’t been sure she wanted to stay in. The sorrow was unbearable. It wasn’t supposed to go that way. It should have been Alex who never woke up, who died on that old mattress, lost to the tide, washed up on that apartment floor. It should be Alex buried beneath the rubble of Black Elm in hell.
Dawes had her fists balled at her sides. She looked like a melted candle. Her dark red hair plastered against her pale skin like a failed flame. Turner’s face was impassive. He could have been waiting in line for coffee.
“You somehow found a Gauntlet,” Anselm continued in that measured, barely leashed voice, “on the Yale campus, and thought it was appropriate to keep it to yourself. You performed an unsanctioned ritual that put countless people and the very existence of Lethe at risk.”
“But we found him.” Dawes said the words softly, her eyes on the floor.
“I beg your pardon?”
She looked up, chin jutting forward. “We found Darlington.”
“We would have gotten him back here,” Turner said. “If you hadn’t interrupted us.”
“Detective Turner, you are hereby relieved of your duties as Centurion.”
“Oh no,” said Turner flatly. “Anything but that.”
Anselm’s face flushed. “If you—”
Turner held up a hand. “Save your breath. I’m going to miss the extra cash and that’s about it.” He paused at the door and turned back to them. “This is the first real thing I’ve seen Lethe or any of you wand-waving, cloak-wearing hacks try to do. Say what you want, but these two don’t back down from a fight.”
Alex watched him go. His parting words made her stand up straighter, but pride wasn’t going to do her any good now. For that matter, she’d never seen anyone in the societies wave a wand, though she suspected there were a few in the Lethe armory. Which she might never see again. Somehow that was the worst of it—not just to be exiled from Yale and all the possibilities that went with it, but to be barred from Il Bastone, a place she’d dared to think of as home.
She remembered Darlington, stone in his hand, forever trying to save something that couldn’t be saved. Was that why she couldn’t turn her back on the golden boy of Lethe? Because he couldn’t let go of a lost cause? Because he’d thought she was worth saving? But what good had she done either of them? What was going to happen to him if no one remained in Lethe to fight for his rescue? And what was going to happen to her mother now that she’d blown her chance at securing a sliver of Lethe’s money from Anselm?
A jolt of fury shook her helplessness loose. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Are you so eager to be cast out of Eden?” Anselm asked.
“I’m not sorry for what I did. I’m just sorry we failed. How did you find us anyway?”
“I went to Il Bastone. Your notes were everywhere.” Anselm brushed the rain from his brow, clearly fighting for calm. “How close were you?”
She could still feel the vibration of Darlington’s soul in her palms, the power of it moving through her. She could still hear that ringing, the sound of steel on steel. “Close.”
“I told you both there would be consequences. I didn’t want to be put in this position.”
“No?” Alex asked. Men like Anselm somehow always found themselves in this position. The keeper of the keys. The man with the gavel. “Then you should have listened to us.”
“You are both hereby barred from the use of Lethe’s properties and assets,” said Anselm. “After tonight, if you set foot inside any of our safe houses, it will be considered an act of criminal trespass. If you attempt to use any of the accounts, artifacts, or resources associated with Lethe, you will be charged with theft. Do you understand?”
That was why he hadn’t brought them to the Hutch, the place where Alex had once taken refuge, where she had bandaged herself up on more than one occasion, where Dawes had once defended her against Sandow. She could hear cars passing in the rain outside, the whoop of revelers headed home from some Halloween party.
“I need a verbal confirmation,” said Anselm.
“I understand,” whispered Dawes, tears spilling onto her cheeks.
“You should put her on probation,” said Alex. “Go ahead and banish me. We all know I’m the bad apple here. Dawes is an asset Lethe can’t afford to lose.”
“Unfortunately, Miss Stern, I don’t think Lethe can afford to keep either of you. The decision is made. Do you understand?”
There was an edge to his voice now, his red-tape, follow-the-rules calm fraying against his anger.
Alex met his gaze. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I don’t deserve your contempt, Alex. I offered to help you, and you looked me in the eye and lied to me.”
A bitter laugh escaped her. “You didn’t offer to help me until you knew I had something you wanted. You were using me and I was happy to whore for you for the right price, so let’s not pretend there was something noble in that transaction.”
Anselm’s lip curled. “You don’t belong here. You never have. Crass. Uncouth. Uneducated. You are a blight on Lethe.”
“She fought for him,” Dawes rasped.
“Excuse me?”
Dawes wiped her sleeve across her runny nose. Her shoulders were still slumped, but her tears were gone. Her eyes were clear. “When you and the board wanted to pretend Darlington couldn’t be saved, we found a way. Alex fought for him, we fought for him, when no one else would.”
“You put this organization and the lives of everyone on this campus at risk. You tampered with forces far beyond your understanding or control. Do not think to paint yourselves the heroes when you broke every rule intended to protect—”
Dawes gave a long sniffle. “Your rules are shit. Let’s go, Alex.”
Alex thought of the Hutch in all of its shabby glory, the old window seat, the painted scenes of shepherds and fox hunts on the walls. She thought of Il Bastone, its warm lamplight, the front parlor where she’d whiled away the summer, snoozing on the couch, reading paperbacks, feeling safe and easy for the first time in her life.
She saluted Anselm with both middle fingers, and followed Dawes out of Eden.
29
When Alex woke the next morning, her body ached and she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering, despite the covers piled on top of her. Her defiance and anger were gone, drained away by nightmares of Darlington crushed beneath Black Elm, Hellie fading before her eyes, Babbit Rabbit’s bloodied little body.
After Anselm had banished them, Alex had invited Dawes to stay with her and Mercy at the dorm. It was closer to the Hutch than her apartment. But Dawes had wanted to be alone.
“I just need some time to myself. I—” Her voice broke.
Alex had hesitated, then said, “Someone needs to go to Black Elm.”
“The cameras are all clear,” said Dawes. “But I’ll check in on him tomorrow.”
Whatever I am will be unleashed upon the world. Alex had seen the circle of protection flicker herself. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
“I’ll ask Turner.”
Alex knew she should volunteer, but she wasn’t sure she could face Darlington—in any form. Did he know how close they’d come? He’d been there. He’d saved her yet again, and sacrificed his chance at freedom. She wasn’t ready to look him in the eye.
“You went to see him,” said Dawes. “The night before the ritual.”
Alex must have been spotted on the camera. “I had to get the vessel.”
“He won’t talk to me. Just sits there meditating or whatever.”
“He’s trying to keep us safe, Dawes. The way he always did.”
Except this time he was the threat. Dawes nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.
“Be careful,” Alex said. “Anselm—”
“Black Elm isn’t Lethe property. And someone has to take care of Cosmo. Of both of them.”
Alex watched Dawes disappear into the rain. She wasn’t made to take care of anyone or anything. Hellie was proof of that. Babbit Rabbit. Darlington.
She had trudged home in the wet, changed into dry pajamas, eaten four Pop-Tarts, and fallen into bed. Now she rolled over, shaking with chills and famished.
Mercy was sitting up in bed, a copy of Orlando open in her lap, a cup of tea steaming atop the upended vintage suitcase she used as a bedside table.
“Why can’t we just try again?” Mercy asked. “What’s stopping us?”
“Good morning to you too. How long have you been up?”
“A couple of hours.”
“Shit.” Alex sat up too fast, the head rush immediate. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. On Monday.”
“Monday?” Alex squeaked. She’d lost all of Sunday. She’d slept nearly thirty-six hours.
“Yup. You missed Spanish.”
What did it matter? Without her Lethe scholarship there would be no way for her to stay at Yale. She’d lost her chance to get away from Eitan. She’d lost her chance at a new life for her mother. Would they let her finish out the year? The semester?
But all of that was too miserable to contemplate.
“I’m starving,” she said. “And why is it so cold in here?”
Mercy dug in her bag. “I brought you two bacon sandwiches from breakfast. And it’s not that cold. It’s because you brushed up against hellfire.”
“You’re a beautiful angel,” Alex said, snatching the sandwiches from Mercy and unwrapping one. “Now what the fuck are you talking about?”
“You never study.”
“Not never,” Alex mumbled, mouth full.
“I read Dawes’s notes, not the actual source material, but contact with hellfire can leave you feeling cold and even result in hypothermia.”
“Was that the blue flame?”
“The what?”
Alex had to remember that Mercy had no idea what had happened in the underworld. “What does hellfire look like?”
“Not sure,” said Mercy. “But it’s considered the fabric of the demon world.”
“What’s the treatment?”
Mercy closed her book. “That’s less clear. Soup made from scratch and Bible verses were both suggested.”
“Yes, please, and no, thank you.”
Alex dragged herself out of bed and fumbled around in her dresser. She pulled a hoodie over her sweats. Was she even allowed to wear Lethe sweats anymore? Was she supposed to return them? She had no idea. She had a lot of questions she should have asked Anselm instead of flipping him off, but it had still been very satisfying.
She found the tiny bottle of basso belladonna wedged against the back of the drawer and squeezed drops into both of her eyes. There was no way she was getting through this day without a little help.
What’s stopping us? Mercy had asked. The answer was nothing. Alex didn’t want to go through hell again. But if they’d done it once, then they’d know what to expect the second time around. Dawes would have to choose a night of portent—assuming she and the others were willing to make a second run at the Gauntlet—and they wouldn’t have armor for Mercy, but they could load her up with other protections, figure out a way around the alarms if they couldn’t brew another tempest. Why not try again? What was there to lose? They’d come close enough that they had to take another shot.
She checked her phone. There was a text from Dawes from the day before.
All clear at Black Elm.
No changes? she texted back.
A long pause followed and then finally: He’s right where we left him. The circle doesn’t look right.
Because it was getting weaker.
They might not be able to wait for a night of portent. That was the other problem. Anselm had scolded them for putting Lethe and the campus in danger. But he didn’t really understand the game they were playing. He didn’t know Darlington was caught between worlds, that the creature sitting in the ballroom at Black Elm was both demon and man. And Alex wasn’t going to tell him. As soon as Anselm understood what they’d done, he’d find some spell to banish Darlington to hell forever rather than risk another use of the Gauntlet.
“I’m sorry last night was such a shit show,” Alex said.
“Are you kidding?” said Mercy. “It was great. I’m pretty sure I saw William Chester Minor. Honestly, I thought it would be a lot tougher.”
You should have been fighting wolves with us.
“I think I’m going to get kicked out of school,” Alex blurted.
“Is that … a prediction or a plan?”
Alex almost laughed. “A prediction.”
“Then we have to get Darlington back. He can plead your case to Lethe. And maybe scare them with a lawsuit or something.”
Maybe he could. Maybe he’d have more on his mind after a prolonged stay in hell. They wouldn’t know until they walked the Gauntlet again. But God, Alex was tired. The descent had been a beating and it wasn’t just her body that hurt.
She texted their group chat: Everyone okay?
Tripp’s reply rolled in first. I feel like shit. I think I have a cold.
All Turner said was Check.
If someone has a kitchen, I can make soup. That should help, Dawes replied and Alex felt a fresh wave of guilt. Dawes had a microwave and a hot plate at her cramped apartment, but no real kitchen. They should be gathering at Il Bastone, healing up for the next fight, making a plan. She thought of the house waiting for them. Did it know what they had attempted? Was it wondering why they hadn’t returned?
Alex rubbed her hands over her face. She felt tired and lost. She missed her mom. She loved Mercy, but for the first time in a while, she really wanted to be by herself. She wanted to eat that second bacon sandwich, then curl up and have a good long cry. She wanted to go to Black Elm and run straight up those stairs, tell Darlington or the demon or whatever he was all about fighting Linus Reiter, her troubles with Eitan. She wanted to tell him every last terrible thing and see if he flinched.
“You okay?” Mercy asked.
Alex sighed. “No.”
“Should we skip class?”
Alex shook her head. She needed to hold on to this world as long as she could. And she didn’t want to think about Darlington or Lethe or hell for a few hours. If Lethe didn’t let her finish out the semester, then what would she do? Locate the exits. Make a plan. She wasn’t the girl she’d been. She wasn’t helpless. She knew how to handle Grays. She had power. She could get a job. Go to community college. Hell, do some ghost-listening and hire herself out to some rich Malibu douchebags. Galaxy Stern, psychic to the stars.
She took a long hot shower, then changed into jeans and boots and the heaviest sweater she had. Their Shakespeare and the Metaphysical class was in LC, and Alex wondered what would happen if she ran into the Praetor. Would Professor Walsh-Whiteley look at her with pity? Give her the cut direct? But if the professor was somewhere in the rush of students, she didn’t see him.
They were filing into class when Alex heard her name being called. She glimpsed a familiar head of dark hair in the crowd.
“Be right back,” she told Mercy, slipping into the flow of people. “Michelle?”
Had the Praetor already sent for Michelle Alameddine to replace her?
“Hey,” Michelle said. “How are you holding up?”
Better than I told you so. “I don’t really know yet. Are you meeting with Walsh-Whiteley?”
There was the faintest pause before Michelle said, “I had an errand to run for the Butler.”
“Here?” Michelle did look put together for a work meeting—dark skirt, gray turtleneck, suede boots, and a matching bag. But she worked in gifts and acquisitions at the Butler Library. An errand should bring her to Beinecke or Sterling, not the English department.
“It was the easiest place to meet.”
Alex didn’t have Turner’s sense for truth, that prickle she’d felt when she’d been in his head, but she still knew Michelle was lying. Was she trying to spare Alex’s feelings? Or was she supposed to keep any Lethe business confidential now that Alex had been excommunicated?
“Michelle, I’m fine. You don’t have to tiptoe around me.”
Michelle smiled. “Okay, you got me. No meeting in LC. I had to be in New Haven and I wanted to see how you were.”
No one is looking out for us but us. That was what Michelle had said when she’d tried to warn Alex not to use the Gauntlet. Even so …
“All this back-and-forth must be wiping you out. How was dinner with your boyfriend’s parents?”
“Oh, fine,” she said with a small laugh. “I’ve met them before. As long as we avoid talking politics, they’re great.”
Alex considered her options. She didn’t want to spook Michelle, but she didn’t want to keep dancing either. “I know you didn’t go back to the city that night.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You told me you were going back to New York. You said you had a train to catch, but you didn’t leave until the next morning.”
Color flooded Michelle’s cheeks. “How is that any of your business?”
“Two murders on campus means I get to be skeptical.”
But Michelle had regained her composure. “Not that it’s your concern, but I’m seeing someone here and I try to come to town a few times a month. My boyfriend is fine with it, and even if he weren’t, I don’t deserve to be interrogated. I was worried about you.”
