Hell's Detective

Chapter Thirty-nine- The Bad Guys

The Devil's blackened lips curled into a smile, and not a nice smile at all.

"I don't remember accepting any visitors today," he said quietly. His voice was barely a whisper, but it commanded the attention of everyone in the room. For this was the whisper of a man who slit throats and burned bodies for sport. It was the whisper of a king.

"Receptionist let us in," Ingleseid said cheerfully.

"Lucello," the Devil said. The demon, Lucello, dropped his hand. "Get the boys to take Sandra down to the kitchen, would you? Tell them I want her slow roasted."

Lucello bowed, consulted his trusty iPad, and hurried out of the room without a backwards glance.

The Devil studied Ingleseid for a moment. "I remember you. Detective Ingleseid, Ammelius' little project." His eyes drifted onto Holly. "And who's this pretty little thing?"

Holly glared at him. Her world famous you-don't-scare-me glare. He took a step towards her, and it faltered. He slid a black nail across her cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood. A forked tongue flickered out from between his pointed teeth and licked her.

To Holly's credit, she remained impassive. Ingleseid hated himself for not doing anything, but if they had any chance of getting out of here alive and intact, they needed to do everything the Devil wanted and pray he was feeling merciful.

"Holly Fawkes. Witch," the Devil said. "You banished one of my darling children here some time ago. I can call her, tell her to pop in and say hello, if you like."

Holly's fists tightened.

He tilted his head to the side. "No?"

He looked between the two of them. "I'm curious, how did you find this place?"

"We crossed the lake," Ingleseid said. Samael's grip tightened around his knee. Of all the times to get stage fright, the kid chose now.

"Well, that's impressive," the Devil murmured. "What about my pet?"

"He seemed to like us."

"That doesn't often happen." He leaned in until their faces were inches apart. Ingleseid could almost trace the black veins slithering over his ghostly skin. "You know who I am, don't you? You must have heard the stories."

Ingleseid nodded, and the Devil's face split into a leer. "Say my name."

"Satan."

He laughed, and it was like the squeal of a knife being sharpened. "I'm afraid this is where your journey ends, Detective," he said, trying very hard to sound sympathetic. "Can't have you and your little friend spilling the secret about this place, can we?" As the words left his mouth, the liquid in the pool stretched up, moulded itself into a vicious looking scythe and flew into his hand. He gave it a few test swings, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp whine.

"Wait," Ingleseid said as he swung the scythe above his head. He raised an eyebrow. "Before you do what is certainly a very bad idea, you might want to see what we brought with us."

Ingleseid nudged a very unwilling Samael forward.

The scythe clattered to the ground.

"Samael," the Devil whispered.

Samael looked up at Ingleseid, who gave him an encouraging nod, and took a few wary steps forward. The Devil sank to his knees and embraced him. He picked him up, didn't even spare Holly and Ingleseid a glance as he carried him past his throne, behind the black curtain at the end of the room.

Holly and Ingleseid looked at each other. Were they supposed to leave now? Could they leave without being chopped up into tiny pieces? And even if they could, how were they going to get home? Maybe they could talk to Lucello about transport options. Like a shuttle. Was there such a thing as a Hell shuttle?