Demon and the Fox - 3. An Angel in Purgatory

Liv had her own private torture room in Purgatory. She hadn’t decorated much yet. It was pretty bland, except for two paintings she’d hung on the dark stone walls. One of New Orleans, and one of bright red high heel shoes.

“I simply adore New Orleans,” she had said to him once, pacing back and forth in her torture room. “I was the Reaper of New Orleans in the 1920’s. Best time of my life.”

She hadn’t explained about the shoes painting. Maybe she just liked red shoes.

In fact, she wore red stilettos right now. The heels clicked on the stone floor as she moved closer to Nick. He was tied to a very uncomfortable chair, hands behind his back. She crossed her arms over her chest. She wore a black dress with long red sleeves.

Her black cloak—the Purgatory guard uniform—was thrown over her desk, next to the little briefcase in which she kept all her torture tools. She didn’t like the uniform much. She’d told him that several times.

This was their third torture session together. Liv had already burned him on several places of his body with a lighter and other times with a red hot poker. She had cut him up. Stabbed him. Broken some of his bones. She had used weird drugs on him, injecting them directly in his veins, to enhance the pain, and to keep him from passing out. And you couldn’t die in Purgatory. Not unless you truly gave up. Then you could die. Whatever that meant. That was just what Nick had heard other prisoners say.

Just don’t give up and you’ll be okay.

Easier said than done.

Nick was tired of feeling weak, raw and hurt. He was sick and tired of being in pain all the time. The pain never went away. And the sting of the number tattooed behind his neck was constant, too.

“667,” Liv had read out loud the first time she’d seen it. “I heard Malachy’s number was 666. One of the guards trying to be funny, probably.” She had lifted her thick curly brown hair and showed him hers. 3563. “You see? It never completely fades. I got out of here nearly one century ago, and I still have the bloody number.”

He watched her warily now as she uncrossed her arms, and then crossed them again. Silver bracelets clinked at her wrist. He hated the sound of those bracelets. Sometimes he thought he could hear them clinking even when she wasn’t there.

She seemed thoughtful. Her red lips were parted. Her brown eyes narrowed.

“I think,” she said in her British accent, “that’s enough of that for today.”

Liv always did that. She tortured him for a while and then she stopped when he was completely broken and humiliated. But she didn’t bring him back to his cell right away. Instead she used this as a therapy session. For herself.

“You know,” she said, throwing her hands in the air, and Nick winced at the sound of those damn noisy bracelets, “I don’t even enjoy torturing people that much. I mean, sure, it’s much better than being a prisoner. But I’m not too fond of it. I’d much rather be a Reaper. Or a Dark Angel. I reckon Lucas and Louis felt threatened by me.” She nodded to herself. She ranted without looking at Nick. She was looking at her painting of New Orleans. “I think they feared that, if they made me a Dark Angel, I could bloody well become much more powerful than the both of them combined. And you know what I heard once? Something Lucas said behind my back. That he thought I was insane.” Now she looked at Nick. “I know, right? That prick. And I think Lance might not have a much better opinion of me!”

Lance was the asshole guard who was always torturing Shay.

“You know, guards, we get bored,” Liv went on. “There is a lot of gossiping going on around here, I promise you. I hear things.” She nodded vigorously. “I know what people are saying about me. That I’m this crazy necromancer girl who brought her brothers back from the dead to be her slaves. That in truth they aren’t even my brothers.”

Nick wasn’t sure what she expected him to say at this point. She probably didn’t want him to say anything. So he didn’t.

“They are my brothers.” She played a bit with her wild curly locks as she shifted her weight to one leg. “I mean, they look like them. At least I think. It’s been so long. And you know, I would’ve brought my actual brothers back from the dead, if only I’d been able to find them. They were long dead when I got my necromancer powers, and how am I supposed to find anyone in Hell? I don’t know what their worst fears are. Most people don’t even know themselves what their worst fear is before going to Hell and coming face to face with it, right? Right. So for all I know, they could be buried alive somewhere. Or trapped in a fire. How am I supposed to know?”

Nick just stared at her.

“What do you think, Nick?” She tilted her head. “Do you think I’ve gone mental? Give me your honest opinion.” She placed a hand under her chin and her brown eyes glanced at him under long black eyelashes.

Nick laughed. He couldn’t help it. He laughed. Maybe he was the one going mental. He pulled at the ties around his wrists, but that only hurt his skin more. He rolled his head, cracking his neck. The skin there hurt too. She had probably cut him there earlier. He couldn’t even remember. Everything hurt. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus. His dark, lanky hair fell in his eyes as he looked up at her.

“What are you talking about? I think you’re a completely sane person.”

“Is that sarcasm? I’m never quite sure with you.” She frowned.

“Oh, no. Of course not. It’s not sarcasm at all.”

She tilted her head even more. She looked almost comical. “Is that sarcasm again?”

“What do you think? Give me your honest opinion, Liv.”

She sighed, and waved him off. “You’re being a cheeky little bastard, you know that? You’re going back to your cell.” She went to throw the door to her torture room open. “Guards!” She yelled. Two hooded figures trooped inside the room, quiet like shadows.

They untied Nick and lifted him off the chair, each holding one arm. One of his arms was broken, and it hurt so much, but when he tried to scream nothing came out. He couldn’t even scream anymore. Ever since Lucas had stabbed his heart, and that lightning bolt had stricken him, he had known nothing but pain. And when he slept he had nightmares, so it was no better. There was only one thing that kept him from ‘giving up’ as people said here.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew ‘giving up’ meant dying. Spirits could die, from what he’d learned. It was a cruel thing really. You died, and then you could die again in the afterlife. Well, afterlife or not, the pain felt pretty real to Nick when the guards pulled him down the narrow, dark, smelly hallway and threw him roughly into his cell. The door was made of tight, solid metallic bars. They closed it and locked it, and then disappeared in the depths of the hallway, their steps like whispers in the dark.

It was a small squared cell. He merely had enough room to lie down with his legs stretched out. It was dark, cold and damp. The first few hours, he had constant panic attacks, because of his claustrophobia, but he was sort of used to it now. Either that or he was too physically weak to have panic attacks.

And he shared this cell with someone. But that wasn’t a bad thing. That was the only thing that kept him going. He was the only thing that kept him going.

Shay fell on his knees next to Nick to look at all his new wounds.

“This Olivia person,” he hissed, “I hate her.”

Nick sighed. “You and me both, brother.”

Shay placed his palms on Nick’s chest and closed his eyes. He wanted to heal him.

“Hey, no. Stop that.” Nick grabbed Shay’s arms and pushed him away softly. “You know what happened the last time you did that.”

Lance had broken all of Shay’s fingers, and then he had ripped out all of his finger nails too, just as a bonus. Lance was a professional torture artist like that.

Shay opened his eyes—amber, cat-like eyes that gleamed in the dark. Shay looked so much like Sasha. If anything, he was skinnier than Sasha; less muscular. But the differences were scarce. Mostly the eyes. And the hair; Shay’s hair was more copper than blonde. But right now it was a long, dirty, tangled mess.

“I don’t like to see you in pain,” Shay said.

Nick chanced a weak smile. “I appreciate your wanting to use your weird magical healing powers on me—I really do—but I don’t want to watch Lance break your fingers again, okay? And the nails, I mean…” Nick winced just thinking about it. Even Liv hadn’t done that to him. “Are they growing back, at least?”

“Yeah,” Shay said, “they are.” But he hid his hands, folding his arms under his head as he lay down on the cold stone floor next to Nick.

Nick rolled on his side so that they were face to face.

For a moment they were silent. Nick glanced at the whip scars on Shay’s chest. There were old ones and fresh ones. When he looked up in Shay’s eyes again, he saw a plea in them. Shay didn’t want him to look at his scars. So Nick didn’t look again.

They were both startled when a prisoner in a nearby cell screamed. It was the kind of scream that could tear you up inside. A howl of desperation and fear; the prisoner was being taken by a guard for torture, surely. Or maybe he was having a nightmare. They heard those kinds of screams all the time around here, but they never got used to it.

When he found his breath again, Nick whispered, “Shay. What happens when people give up?”

“Just don’t give up, Nick. Ever.”

“I know, I know.” He realized he was almost crying. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “But what happens when they do?” He whispered. He didn’t know why he was whispering.

“They get sent to the Purgatory fires,” said Shay.

Another scream was heard in the distance. That one came from far away. But they definitely heard it. And it still turned Nick’s bones to ice.

“Why do we have numbers? Why is mine only 667? I mean, there’s gotta be more people than that who—”

“When a prisoner gets sent to the fires,” Shay said, “they give that prisoner’s number to someone else.”

Nick’s eyes closed. That was what he feared. It was creepy, really. And kind of sad. How many others had gotten the number 667 before him?

“What’s yours?”

He didn’t want to stop talking to Shay. He wanted to keep listening to his voice, to keep looking into his eyes. It was comforting.

“Haven’t I showed it to you before?” Shay’s fingers inched toward the back of his neck. “486. I’ve had it since I was here the first time. I can’t really feel the lines on my skin anymore. But it’s still a bit visible.”

“I wish my tattoo were still visible.” He didn’t even want to look down at his own chest. It depressed him. Liv had cut up and burned the skin all where his tattoo had been.

“If you ever get your body back, your tattoo will be just fine. If Malachy doesn’t get it removed, I guess.” Shay let out a short laugh.

“It’s not funny, Shay. We don’t even know if Malachy’s really possessing my body. Maybe I’m just dead. Really dead. You know what I mean.”

Shay’s amber eyes had a glint in them. He got like that whenever he was talking about Malachy, Nick had noticed.

“Lance thinks Malachy is possessing you.”

“So what? What does Lance know?”

“He knows Malachy pretty well.”

Nick arched an eyebrow. “I’m starting to think that you know Malachy pretty well, too.”

Shay said nothing. But he smiled.

“I’m serious,” Nick said, “what does Lance know? What’s his story, anyway? Why does he want to torture you so badly? Doesn’t he tell you stuff? Olivia’s always telling me all about her life. I know she got knocked up at seventeen and the doctor asked her husband to choose between her life or the baby’s life, and he chose the baby. Boo freakin’ hoo, right? And she told me about her god damn brothers—the real ones and the fake ones—about a hundred times. What do I care about Liv’s life? I think she actually expects me to feel sorry for her.”

“Lance does tell me things,” Shay said slowly.

Nick rolled his eyes. Shay sure liked his suspense. “Like what?”

Shay rolled onto his back, throwing one arm over his head. Nick could see his profile. His nose was finely shaped, and did that cute upturned thing. Just like Sasha. Thinking about Sasha hurt. It was a physical pain—his chest ached as much as when Liv had carved his tattooed skin. Just in a different way. What’s Sasha doing right now? Is he okay?

“Like,” Shay said, staring up at the ceiling, “how Malachy killed him.”

“Shocker. He probably killed half the people in here. Listen. All I have to do is mention his name. This is my favorite Purgatory game.” And even though he had been whispering before, now Nick almost yelled: “Hey! Guys! Ever heard of Malachy?”

And there was a lot of yelling back:

“I fucking hate that guy!”

“He’s the one who killed me!”

“Ever heard of—? Malachy took my city from me and then he didn’t even become its Reaper! It’s like he did it just to show off.”

“That asshole.”

And other things along those lines—and in other languages too, but insults were pretty distinguishable in any language—until the ruckus finally quieted down in the hallway. Shay didn’t really react. He looked merely annoyed, if anything.

“You’re the only person I know who doesn’t hate Malachy,” Nick mused, his voice much quieter now.

“When I first met him I hated him,” said Shay.

“Why?”

“Remember when I told you spirit guides have a list of people they need to look after?”

“Yeah?”

“He killed all the people on my list at the time.”

“That’s fucking horrible.”

“I suppose so.” But Shay was smiling.

“Why are you smiling?”

No answer.

“Shay?”

Sometimes you had to change the topic with Shay, or else he just wouldn’t bother answering.

“Why did Malachy kill Lance? Did he take his city just to show off?”

“No. Lance wasn’t a Reaper. He was a Higher Demon. He always gave Malachy everything he wanted. Made him a Reaper, then a Dark Angel, then gave him necromancer powers. But Malachy ultimately wanted to become a Higher Demon, and that was the one thing Lance never agreed to.”

“Why not?” He prompted. He liked listening to Shay. His voice was soothing and soft. Nick couldn’t be sure what his accent was. It was subtle, but it was there; Middle-Eastern, perhaps Persian. In any case, Nick liked it.

“I think Lance didn’t trust him. He was afraid Malachy would become too powerful. More powerful than him.”

“But Malachy killed him, right? So that means he was already more powerful.”

Shay shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Lance says he was caught by surprise. Says he never thought Malachy would do that. Not to him.”

Nick sighed. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a Purgatory guard that uses me as a therapist.”

“No, you are not.”

“So basically,” Nick summed up, “Malachy killed Lance, then got himself killed too. So he ended up here and got tortured by Lance.”

“Basically.” Shay’s expression was somewhat moody. He definitely wasn’t smiling anymore.

Nick wasn’t smiling, either: He had killed Liv, then gotten himself killed. So he’d ended up here, and…

“Turns out,” Nick said darkly, “Malachy and I have more things in common than I thought.”