Page 65 of The Deer and the Dragon
Fauna released my hand and stepped behind me, placing both hands on my back as she forced me toward a reddish, neon glow. The fires of Hell. The inferno. The lava. The lake of sulfur. The humming glow of a crimson sign that clearly read Shadow’s.
I was too paralyzed with fear to do little more than shiver at the door until Fauna reached around me to yank on the handle.
My lashes fluttered as I struggled to understand what I was seeing.
I flinched as she wrapped her fingers around the handle, terrified of the monsters and ghouls and torture chambers within. Instead, she opened the door to reveal a mostly empty pub. Fauna gave me another small shove, as I’d lost all ability to move, to speak, to breathe. I could barely hear the music over the frozen chatter of my teeth but was almost certain “Don’t Fear the Reaper” was being piped in from an unseen sound system. A few patrons cast us looks as we entered, two pausing their game of pool to watch us cross the threshold.
“Gentlemen.” She nodded at the men before escorting me to the bar top. Dark wood floors. Dark wood stools. Darkwood tabletop. The buzz of neon bulbs. Glasses. Music. The lingering scents of some savory snack and spilled liquor. It was…just a dive bar.
She slid onto a stool top as the bartender sidled up to us. My lips parted in silent shock as I stared at the inky silhouette. The man had no face.
He was composed entirely of shadow, as if a black, obsidian void where a person might be. I blinked once, then twice, then a third time. His body reminded me of Silas’s—built and rippling, every muscle visible under his tight, red long-sleeve tee. His messy charcoal hair broke up the darkness, red horns poking up from the hair.
“Looks like someone got caught in the rain,” said the shadow. I had a sudden suspicion as to where the establishment had gotten its name. He leaned against the counter with the same hospitable familiarity I’d seen in every club, tavern, and bar in the mortal realm. “What can I get you ladies?”
She propped her elbows on the countertop and arched forward. Fauna’s lower lip puckered in a pout. “How strong can you mix something while still making it taste like candy?”
“I know just the thing.”
“Wait.” I stopped him. They both stilled, wondering what I could possibly say before I responded, “Nothing candy-tasting for me. Beer? Can I order beer here?”
Fauna giggled. “Of course you can order beer, but I don’t know why you’d want to. I don’t know if you know this, but it tastes like gross bread soda.”
The bartender asked me a few far-too-normal questions about how dark, hoppy, or bitter I liked my beers before selecting something on my behalf and sliding me a glass. He paused as he handed it to me, then looked to Fauna.
“Is she human?” he asked quietly.
“Only kind of,” Fauna responded with the lift of a single shoulder. “She’s one of ours. Itisher first visit though, so let’s do our best to scare her.”
“Can do, boss,” he said, offering a two-finger salute beforehe returned to his duties.
Fauna wrapped an arm around me, chafing my damp sleeve with her hand to stop my shivering. “I’ll get us a place to stay. But we couldn’t very well stand out in the cold and keep you trembling like a wet Chihuahua while we figured things out.”
I had no idea what it meant to figure things out in Hell.
I looked at the patrons playing pool. One appeared to be a handsome, fully human male. Unlike the bartender’s aspect of shadow, or Azrames’s grayscale pallor, he had rich, dark skin with cool undertones. If it weren’t for the thin, forked tail that snaked up behind him, I would have sworn he had no place being in Hell. Beside him, the neighboring patron looked like he’d stepped off the set of a 1950s mob movie. He did not share the preternatural beauty I’d seen on so many faces but instead sported a serious expression and a portly belly that made his suspenders strain. The only prop he lacked was a cartoonishly oversize cigar.
I sipped my beer, eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“Good, huh?” she asked.
I nodded. “It’s…smoother. Better, somehow.”
“The humans have great junk food, but Hell really nails booze. Maybe if you’re lucky, one of these days I’ll show you what the Nordes do best. So, go ahead.”
“Hmm?”
She gestured to the bar. “You’re in Hell. And all you ever do is ask stupid questions. At this point I’m pretty sure it’s your only personality trait. So do it. Get them out of your system now before we’re in front of someone important and you embarrass me.”
My teeth shattered as the rain chilled my bones, but there was only one thing on my mind. “Hell is evil,” I said.
Her face, posture, and general aura sloughed in deadpan exhaustion. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll humor this question until I finish this drink, because every pantheon is exhausted with the topic. And be warned, I’m drinking fast. So, tell me, whyis Hell evil?”
I wasn’t sure what she was asking. There had to be a double meaning. She knew of faiths and religions and angels and demons. She knew of churches and beliefs. It didn’t take me long to offer, “What do you want? Old Testament or new? Weeping and gnashing of teeth. Realm of the dead. Eternal fire. Punishment. I don’t remember any verses about playing pool and drinking beer.”
She squared her shoulders and took a sip. “Okay, church kid, ready for the final word on theology?”
I wasn’t sure if I was pleased or offended that a Norse pagan fae was about to lecture me on church culture, but I wasn’t in a position to argue. I thought briefly of a piece I’d read on a physical burning pit beyond the holy city being conflated with the concept of Hell. “Are you going to make the Valley of Gehenna argument?”
