Page 67 of Infernium

Her chest rose with a deep breath, and she huffed. “I don’t have the best situation at home. Sometimes, somewhere else is better, even if it’s not all that great. No doubt, if they would’ve actually sent me to be some slave, or to Infernium of all hellish places, I guess I would’ve gone back. I’m not glutton for misery, you know. And look.” She waved her arm, gesturing toward the room. “I’m living it up in a creepy, gothic cathedral now. How cool is that?”

“Infernium … you’ve heard of it?”

She toyed with the hem of the dress, pulling at a loose string. “Everyone here has heard of it. I think they’re more afraid of that place than the possibility of winding up in Hell.”

“Why?”

“I’ve only ever heard stories.The place the angels fear to tread.”

“Why do they say that?”

“No angel has ever come out alive, I guess. Humans, either. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let them send me there.”

“It sounds terrifying.”

“Yeah.” She stared off for a moment, eyes unfocused, as if in thought, then shook her head. “So, are you going to tell me what you studied, or is it going to remain one of the great mysteries of the universe?”

“Iconology. Symbols.”

“How’d you get into that?”

“My dad. He was a professor of religious studies and did a lot of language studying. Ancient languages. Trying to decipher codes and whatnot. I was always into puzzles and the challenge of solving them. I was fascinated by his work.”

“That’s cool. I did three semesters at Caltech, but dropped out.”

“What was your field of study?”

“Astrophysics.” She lowered her gaze, as she sat picking at her fingers. “I guess I needed my world to feel bigger than it was. Sometimes, it’s suffocating.”

“It is.”

“Guess that’s why I come here. It reminds me that as big as earth is, it’s nothing at all.”

“You’ve been coming here a while, then?”

“Since my mother died.” Lips flattened, she lowered her gaze, keeping with the fidgeting of her loose string, which had grown twice in length. “She was the only one who … saw me.Reallysaw me. When she died, I felt like the world stole from me. Just … ripped her right out of my hands without apology. No remorse. That was the first time I learned that prayers were useless. I thought maybe I might find her here.” Her words struck a chord, given it was my mother’s death which had prompted my father to seek out Nightshade, and ultimately what drove me to come after him.

“How old were you when you first came to Nightshade?”

“Eleven. I thought I was dreaming one night. I saw one of my classmates from school, Sebastian, standing in my bedroom. I had no idea what he was doing there, so I followed him out of my house and into the nearby woods. On the other side was this weird village I’d never seen before. I spent the whole night hanging out with this kid. Running through the streets. Laughing. Living.” Eyes unfocused, she seemed lost in her reminiscing, smiling as she told the story. “I felt so free. And when I returned back home, I crashed onto my bed. What felt like minutes later, I woke up.” Her smile faded to something more serious. “My mom told me that she’d gotten a call from another classmate’s mom, telling her that Sebastian had been hit by a car while riding his bike the day before. He died instantly.” Running her finger across her bottom lip, she stared off. “Night after night, he came to my room, and we would run through those woods to the village. And it wasn’t long before I realized, it wasn’t a village. It was another realm.” Strange, how utterly different her story was from mine. Two completely different experiences, and yet, there we both were, sitting by the fire in purgatory together. “What brought you here?” she asked.

“Fate, I guess you could say. My mother died, as well.”

“Huh. So, we have something in common, then.”

I hesitated to tell her that in just a few months I’d become half demon. Perhaps the very thing she slayed. I’d be enslaved to a man who, according to Jericho, would do whatever he could to make my life miserable as a means of vengeance. And unlike her, the chances of Jericho pulling me out of that prison were slim. So, instead, I nodded. “I suppose we do.”

17

THE BARON

Standing before Drystan, the baron studied the markings made to his cousin’s flesh. Strips of glistening gashes marked fresh wounds, and the scent of seared meat on the air told him the other boy had been burned as torment.

Beside one of the pentroshes, the baron’s father wore a bored expression, and if to to add insult, he yawned. The mere sight of him had the baron’s muscles bunched in anger, and when the older Van Croix sent him a smirk, the younger lord wished he could have ripped it clean off his face.

One of the pentroshes slipped a blacksmith’s glove over his hand and lifted a long piece of iron from a small brazier at the corner of the room, which glowed an ominous bright orange. As he strode toward Drystan, the boy wriggled in his binds, his eyes wide with fear.

“No! Please! I’m begging you! Please!”

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